


The Journey To Sam Winchester's Hidden Kink

by o0kaymawn0o



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Omega Roleplay, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, BDSM, Bathroom Control, Biting, Blindfolds, Blood Play, Bondage, Bottom Sam, Caging, Chastity, Choking, Contortionism, Creampie, Crotch Sniffing, Cum Marking, Cum Play, Daddy!Dom/Little Boy (roleplay), Daddy!Kink, Dean gets a little over enthusiastic with some things, Diapers, Dirty Talk, Docking, Doctor/Patient Roleplay, Dom Dean, Douple Penetration (with an added toy), Ear play, Enemas, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Facial, Farting, Fear Play, Feeding, Felching, Feminisation, Gags, Gun play, Hair Pulling, Hotdogging, Humiliation, I JUST WANT TO MAKE THAT CLEAR, Ice Play, Impact Play, Impala Sex, Infantalism, JUST THE BROTHERS TRYING OUT STUFF AND EPICALLY FAILING, Knife Play, Large insertions, M/M, Master Dean, Medical Play, Mirror Synchonisation, Multiple Orgasms, Navel Play, Nipple Play, Non-Con Roleplay, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Pet Play, Pet Sam, Pregnancy Kink, Priest Roleplay, Prison roleplay, Public Sex, Rimming, Roleplay, Sex Tape, Shaving, Snowballing, Somnophilia, Sounding, Spanking, Strip Tease, Student/Teacher Roleplay, Sub Sam, Tea Bagging, Temperature Play, This is supposed to be funny, Top Dean, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Torture Roleplay, Watersports, Wetting, ass worship, ballbusting, breath play, cock and ball torture, cross-dressing, drug/alcohol use, fuck machine, scents and smells, suffocation, urethral insertion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6042151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0kaymawn0o/pseuds/o0kaymawn0o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean have been having sex for a long time, but it's always the same thing. Just fucking in all different positions, and Sam likes that. He enjoys being completely filled up by Dean, fucked out and sated by the end of it, but he knows that Dean has got a long list of crazy sex stuff that he's done, and  Sam doesn't want Dean to get bored of him.</p>
<p>Sam confesses to Dean that he'd like to try out some stuff, see what he likes, and find  a new side of him, which Dean is ALL for, but Sam has to tell him when he doesn't like something, and not just go along with it because Dean is enjoying it. </p>
<p>In the beginning, they had no idea what kind of messed up shit people are in to, but by the end they're gonna have a lot of things that they can say they have done. Been there, got the T-shirt and all that jazz. </p>
<p>Sam's not gonna like a lot of it, though. </p>
<p>Even if Dean gets overly excited about most of it.</p>
<p>They will find that one thing that turns Sam on in ways he doesn't understand, though. </p>
<p>Dean's sure of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so there is a lot of stuff going on in this, but I just want to stress again that this is MEANT to be funny... Just full of EPIC FAILS, trial and errors and stuff, just things that could go horrible wrong, or where you're just like... "No... No to that." 
> 
> Here's a preview of the sort of thing that I mean, and what to expect. :D 
> 
> Dean walks in decked out in Dom gear from head to toe, an Indiana Jones whip in his hand, cracking against the other, assless chaps in the back, spiked collar and cuffs--he looks like something out of Twilight, only crazier.
> 
> Sam looks Dean up and down, shakes his head and says, "No... Just... No, dude."
> 
> Dean unzips the mask on his face, groaning in frustration. "Fine. I'll go change then."
> 
> "Are you wearing assless-chaps? Seriously?"
> 
> "It's what the guy at the store recommended."
> 
> "Assless-chaps? Are you sure he wasn't just hitting on you?"
> 
> "No. I--just shut up."
> 
> THAT'S THE SORT OF STUFF TO EXPECT!! If you like that, then ENJOY YOUR STAY HERE. :D

Dean collapses on top of Sam, mind fogging over as Sam’s ass wrings the last remnants of his orgasm out of Dean, leaving him sleepy and sated. He can’t believe that Sam had been in the mood after a night like tonight, but he’s not gonna complain about it.

“Dude, you’re heavy. Get off,” Sam mutters, weakly pushing at Dean. Sex does tend to suck the energy right out of Sam, so Dean takes pity on him, and lethargically rolls over onto his back, trying to get his breath back after their activities.

He pats Sam on the chest twice with his closest hand in way of thanking him, crossing his arms behind his head afterwards and breathing in deep through his nose, relaxing himself after their rigorous love making.

“That… Holy shit, Sam… That was awesome,” Dean manages through attempting to get his breath back, nudging Sam’s heel with his big toe under the covers, another way of saying thank you. The sex they just had deserves a playback, in Dean’s opinion.

“When I said you could fuck me as hard you wanted to, I assumed you wouldn’t push it past your limit,” Sam admits, looking over at Dean, pleased to see him looking so relaxed and happy. That grin on his stupidly handsome face is going to be there for a while, and Sam’s completely fine with that.

“Hey, you gave me free reign. Of course I’m gonna get as much out of it as I can,” Dean reasons, breaths starting to even out. Through his orgasmic haze, Dean spots something troubling Sam in his eyes, which have always been his easiest tell. Dean twists onto his side and thumbs Sam’s cheek, turning his head to lock their eyes. “What’s up, Sammy?”

Sam falters under Dean’s gaze, the affectionate touch a bitter sweet moment, due to the fact that Dean has locked on to the fact that there is _something_ bothering Sam, however he’s really not sure how to go about explaining it.

“Am I… Uh, y’know…  Boring?” Sam mumbles, turning his head out of Dean’s grasp.

“What do, uh… What do you mean?” Dean inquires, a little confused by the sudden Q and A.

Sam shifts onto his side as well, arguing internally with himself that Dean may or may not take the piss out of his confession, but he will still be understanding in his own way, so there’s no reason for him not to say anything.

“I know that you’ve done a lot of stuff… A lot of, uh… Kinky stuff, and I guess I haven’t, so I thought maybe you were getting bored,” Sam confesses, shrugging one shoulder at the end, unconsciously fiddling with the creases in the sheets.

“So, what, you wanna get kinky?” Dean surmises, head filling with all sorts of naughty shit he can do together with Sam. He dials it back when his cock starts to take interest. Dean really doesn’t have it in him to go at it again right now, so he’s going to have to save those types of thoughts for the shower.

Sam nods. “I guess I just wanna try some stuff out… See what I like.”

“We can do that,” Dean agrees, not seeing why Sam should be so embarrassed by this admittance. “Just be straight with me when you don’t like something, so we can cross it off the list. I don’t want you putting up with it just because I might be getting off on it.”

Sam frowns at that. “That’s not really fair to you, Dean—“

“Trust me, Sammy—if you pretended you enjoyed something just because I was, and then I found out that you hated it, I’m not gonna be happy about it, believe me,” Dean states, pressing a gentle kiss to Sam’s lips, solidifying that factoid.

Sam understands that the kiss means more than Dean can bring himself to say, which is that he really would appreciate it if Sam didn’t do something _just_ for him, just because _Dean_ likes it—that he wants it to be equal between them, though he’s more than willing to help Sam find his kink.

“All right, Dean. I won’t,” Sam agrees, laying his head on Dean’s chest, comforted by the rise and fall of Dean’s body, the heart beating defiantly against his ear always enough to calm him in any given situation.

“Good. We’ll start light. Work are way up. There’s bound to be something that gets your rocks off, that Earth Dwellers frown upon,” Dean muses, running his hand up and down Sam’s arm, eyes closed.

“Yeah… So, what gets _your_ rocks off?” Sam asks, curling his leg over Dean’s, synchronising their breathing. He has a few ideas about what Dean likes, but so far they haven’t really done anything other than have sex. Sex with Dean is great… Sam never thought he would love having his ass fucked as much as he does, but he’s come to terms with it over time, and is no longer embarrassed by how much he enjoys it. Still, they haven’t gone passed that, so Sam’s never done anything… Kinky with Dean before.

“Uh, I don’t really know with dudes, since you’re the only one I’ve ever been with, but I love girls in lingerie. Really skimpy clothes, like they’re almost completely naked. I had a major thing for cheerleaders back in High School… Don’t worry, I’m not gonna ask ya’ to get all kitted out in cheerleader gear, screaming “Go Lions” with red, puffy pom-poms, while yo—“

“Okay, stop. The more you explain, the more it sounds like you really want that,” Sam cuts him off, a shudder of disgust thrumming through him at the imagery Dean created.

“Anyway… I’ve done, uh, some stuff. Not like a boatload, but enough to be just over the line of sexually adventurous,” Dean explains, wondering what sort of things he might find that he likes himself throughout this endeavour.

“So, we just start at the bottom of the barrel, and…” Sam trails off, noticing that Dean’s breathing has evened out, and he’s no longer awake.

Sam smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest, and falls asleep shortly after.


	2. Hair Pulling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean surprises Sam during sex with the first stint into Kinkdom.

Sam’s not sure when they’re going to start on this adventure to find the kinkier side of himself, but Dean said that he has an idea in mind for the first one, and that they have to be in the right situation for it. That doesn’t exactly explain to Sam why they’re having normal sex right now. Sam backs in to Dean’s thrusts, mouth hanging open as Dean charges into him from behind, knocking the air out of him from the sheer impact.

“Fuck… Dean, shit…” Sam gets out through broken words, head falling. He doesn’t possess the motor skills right now to even keep his head up. Dean’s cock is getting in all the right places—the pace is exactly how Sam enjoys it, and Sam’s already created a puddle of sweat on the sheets, back arching obscenely with each press in from Dean.

“Yeah, I know you love _this_ … It’s what I’m _about_ to do that I’m not so sure about,” Dean comments, leaning down to bite and kiss Sam’s neck, almost as if he’s apologizing. Sam’s just hoping that whatever Dean has in mind doesn’t ruin the mood completely, as Sam is seconds away from coming without a hand on his cock.

“Just don’t stop,” Sam rumbles, rolling his hips back, trying to get Dean even deeper inside of him.

“Okay, but remember you said that,” Dean agrees, slowing down the pace to a slow, yet deep in and out, swallowing nervously as he curls his fingers in Sam’s hair, yanking Sam back, and effectively impaling himself deeper inside.

Dean sort of likes it, but it’s not up to him.

Sam frowns when he feels Dean’s fingers clinging to his hair, and then gasps when he’s tugged back like a mouse on a string, eyes stinging at the corners as he gets the sensation of his hair pulling hard against his skin.

“Ow! Ow, Dean. That hurts,” Sam snaps, breathing a sigh of relief when Dean releases his hair immediately afterwards, draping himself over Sam’s back and sucking another apology into Sam’s shoulder.  

“Hair-pulling is a no, then… Can I keep going, please?” Dean reasons, frozen behind Sam, cock so painfully hard and ready that if Sam were to tell him to pull out right now, he might cry.

“It’s fine,” Sam says, shifting his hips to convey that the mood hasn’t been tarnished just yet. “Just… Don’t do that again.”

Dean reinstates the back and forth, feeling his orgasm approaching at great speed, and just needing to finish inside Sam _right now._ He’s gonna be so pissed if Sam loses his erection because of that trial and error.

“I’m still hard, Dean. Just hurry up,” Sam mutters, satisfied that he still feels the beginning of his orgasm, balls drawing up, hole flexing, cock throbbing…

“That’s really encouraging. Thank you,” Dean grumbles sarcastically, slamming in a few more times, pressing right up against Sam as he empties his load into Sam’s channel, Sam following immediately after, moaning softly through his climax.

Dean pulls out as soon as they’re done, shucking on his jeans to head over to the kitchenette to grab the decanter of whiskey he stashed in there.

Sam turns over onto his front, propping himself up on one of his elbows. “Are you mad that I didn’t like it?”

Dean shakes his head, downing a double finger of whiskey. “I’m not mad at all.”

Sighing, Sam heads to the bathroom to grab a washcloth. “Did _you_ like it?” he asks, switching on the sink to wet the cloth.

“I don’t know… Maybe? I think it’s just you, though,” Dean clarifies, joining Sam in the bathroom. He accepts the cloth from Sam, as soon as he’s done washing the come off his cock. Dean does the same, pushing his jeans just below his ass to run the cloth over and around his flaccid dick, handing it back to Sam for him to rinse it off in the sink.

“It was weird, I guess,” Sam reasons, wetting his hands before shutting off the tap, drying them on a nearby hand-towel.

Dean scratches the back of his head nervously. “You could pull mine when you’re riding me if you want some sort of payback?” Dean suggests, circling his arms around Sam’s waist. He rests his head on Sam’s shoulder, kissing the side of his neck.

Sam laughs, tilting his head back. “Nah. You don’t have to feel guilty, Dean. We tried, and I didn’t like it. What will be, will be.”

Dean nods his head in agreement. “We’ll add that to the list of things-that-don’t-make-Sammy-come-like-a-rocket, then.”

“I’m starting to get the feeling that that’s gonna be a long list,” Sam murmurs, frowning.

“There’s bound to be something you like, sweetheart. We’ve just gotta try out a bunch of shit to find it,” Dean intones, guiding Sam back to bed, spooning up behind him.

Sam turns his head to make a face at Dean. It takes a couple of second, but Dean eventually figures out what it means. He removes his jeans, kicking them out of the side of the bed, pressing his groin right up against Sam’s ass, ignoring his own come leaking out of Sam’s ass starting dry between Sam’s ass-cheeks.

“Is there anything that you’ve fantasized about? About us, I mean?” Sam questions, staring at the wall in thought.

“Like what?”

“About me, I guess?” Sam corrects, shifting to slot them together more comfortably.

Dean fidgets behind him, large hand flattening over Sam’s stomach, thick digits drumming an unrecognizable beat.

“I kind of sort of imagine you in a jockstrap a lot,” Dean admits, grinning lewdly at the thought.

“You want me to wear a jockstrap?” Sam reiterates, worrying his bottom lip in thought.

“Only if you want to. I just think you’d look fucking sexy in one,” Dean relays shamelessly, voice deeper than humanly possible, lips playing with the spot just below Sam’s ear.

“Well, your birthday’s coming up,” Sam muses, wondering what Dean would be like if he saw him in a jockstrap. “So, that could be your birthday present.”

Dean smirks behind Sam, leaning over to share a deep kiss with him, gently massaging his scalp. “Don’t be surprised if it hurts to walk the next day, if you do do that.”

Sam snorts, grinding his ass back onto Dean’s cock. “I’m sure it’ll be worth it.”


	3. Tea-Bagging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's shaving his balls for the main event.

Shaving his balls has never really been something that Dean has had to do fully. If they’re going to be dipping in Sam’s mouth, though, Dean assumes that Sam wouldn’t want to be pulling hairs out of his throat, or coughing up some pubic-hairball afterwards. Dean’s man enough to admit that he’s a little worried about nicking his delicate flesh during the process. He would really rather not cause any damage to his boys, but he’s prepared to do this for Sam, even if Sam has no idea what Dean plans to do later.

Earlier today, Dean looked up a bunch of things to do sexually, outside of the usual spectrum. After scrolling through a number of links to videos of Master Chief from some online game called Halo tea-bagging his deceased opponents, Dean eventually found a do’s and don’ts article on the act, which he found humorous despite himself.

One of the key parts is to shave the area, in order to prevent bitchy-ness from the one having them in their mouth. A thorough wash had been the next part of advice, which is why moments before, Dean had his boys soaking in warm water, vigorously sponging his baby-makers until they were squeaky clean.

Right now, Dean’s got a hand full of shaving cream, a dual-razor blade gripped tight between his fingers, and a whole lot of second guessing himself going on. Dean’s just worried that something could go horribly wrong, and he could possibly bleed out on the floor. That’s not the way that Dean wants to go, not after taking down ugly sons of bitches for the majority of his life and surviving things that would make Charlie Manson shiver in fear. Yeah, being the guy that bled out after cutting himself shaving his testicles is not the thing that he wants to go on his eulogy.

“Come on, Dean… You’ve shaved your face a million times,” Dean mutters, giving himself a pep talk. He lathers the foam over and around his balls, wets the razor under the gushing sink and goes to work. Spreading his legs for more room to work with, Dean cradles his boys in the ridges of his fingers. He lifts them as he drags the blade, making sure to go with the motion, as to reduce the risk of maiming himself.

The door to the Bunker creaks open, and Dean thanks his lucky stars that he just got done with a scrape, otherwise that could have been lethal.

“Dean? Where are you?” Sam calls from downstairs, his voice travelling.

“In the bathroom,” Dean answers, timing the next drag of the razor across his tender skin.

Dean assumes that Sam thinks it’s safe to enter, as there is no water running—from the shower, at least, not that Dean would mind if Sam barged in on him in the shower; in fact, he would encourage that sort of behaviour—so Sam waltzes right in without preamble, eyes immediately going wide at the sight before him.

“Are you… Dean, are you shaving your balls?” Sam asks, swallowing nervously. Dean can tell that there’s something going through Sam’s beautiful mind right now, probably coming up with the worst possible scenario for their next try out, and not even entertaining the possibility of something as low-key as tea-bagging.

“Is that what it looks like I’m doing? I thought it was pretty clear that I was designing some new type of contemporary art,” Dean jests, washing off the razor to instil an easier glide on the next go round.

Sam snorts. “You’d be better off running a bubble bath and dipping your face in it. You could call it _The Joys of Childhood, Forty Years Later,_ or something.”

“I’m thirty-seven, you ass,” Dean grumbles, rinsing the razor once again.

“Forty sounded better than thirty-seven. It would sell better. Deal with it,” Sam waves off, perching on the side of the bath, watching intently as Dean lifts the flesh of his balls to run a clean line with the blade across the fragile skin. Sam’s legs cross over of their own accord in sympathy.

“Then I should fire my agent,” Dean grumbles, not willing to lose his focus right now.

“So… Can I ask?”

Dean locks eyes with Sam for a single moment before returning to his task. “Have you heard of tea-bagging, Sammy?” Dean requests, finishing the final journey of the blade across his skin. He’s not sure how he’s going to react when he washes the foam off, and it’s bare down there.

“Is that when… Oh… That’s why you shaved your balls,” Sam mutters, clocking on to the situation at hand. Sam’s never imagined Dean squatting over his face and dipping his balls in his mouth, but some people actually get off on that, so there must be something to it, right?

Dean nods, filling the sink with warm water again after quickly rinsing the foam from his parts. When it’s filled, he stretches his balls out and dunks them in the water, placing his hands on the side of the sink as the sensation heats up his body.

“I can’t believe you shaved your balls,” Sam muses, astonished by the chain of events. “You did that for me? That’s love right there, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Pile it on. I was just being considerate.”

“I’ll remember that when you’re squatting over my face,” Sam retorts, subconsciously licking his lips. He’s had Dean’s low hanging fruit in his mouth before, however not like that.

Dean smirks. “Do you want the front view or the back?”

Rolling his eyes, Sam picks up a toothbrush to scrub his mouth clean. Dean might be the one dipping his acorns in the honey pot, but Sam’s a little anxious about slobbering his bad breath all over them.

“What, it’s not enough that I have to lie there while you dip your balls in and out of my mouth—you want me to have an eyeful of crack, as well?” Sam returns, squirting Aqua Fresh across the bristles, wetting it in the sink before popping it in his mouth.

“You’re right. I might fart from all the excitement,” Dean agrees, draining the sink. He grabs a towel to dry his boys, as Sam chokes on his toothbrush, side-eyeing Dean with venom.

Dean merely grins, patting his stomach for effect, eyes following the glob of toothpaste ejecting from Sam’s mouth.

“Don’t even joke about that. You better not have chowed down on greasy food before this spectacular idea popped into your head,” Sam warns, rinsing his mouth out with water, depositing his tooth brush back in the cup, and wiping his lips with the hand-towel.

“Actually, I haven’t eaten since this morning. You’re welcome,” Dean replies, motioning them out the door. Sam follows behind, admiring Dean’s ass as he walks. He might not want to get an eyeful of it above his face, or be witness to it spreading methane, but it’s nice to look at an acceptable distance.

They both set up in the room, Sam stripping off his clothes as slowly as humanly possible. He’s just not sure that he’s going to like this. Dean doesn’t look as confident about it, either, although that could just be because the hair-pulling had been a complete miss.

Eventually, Sam’s down to his boxers. He lays himself out on the bed, fiddling with the creases in the sheets. The patterns on the ceiling do nothing to quell his anxiety, but he’s just not going to focus on that. Dean washed, shaved and re-washed his balls for this. He risked the sanctity of his two vegies for this, so Sam has to at least go through with it.

“Sam, all I’m gonna do is dip my balls in your mouth. Stop worrying—you like my balls, right?” Dean cajoles, as he crawls up Sam’s body, leaning down so they’re face to face.

“Yeah. But—“

“But nothing, Sammy. It’s not a big deal, all right?” Dean assures, kissing Sam deeply before moving into a squat, holding his balls just above Sam’s face.

“My whole life is flashing before my eyes… It’s such a saggy life,” Sam jokes, trying to normalise the situation with humour.

“Are you saying I’ve got geezer balls?” Dean grumps, dipping down to silence Sam, eyes popping open at the sensation of Sam’s warm cavern closing around his balls. It feels really nice, and Dean forgets what he’s supposed to do next, as Sam’s starts to lick and suckle on them.

“Oh, yeah… Mm… That’s nice…” Dean husks, losing his squat as Sam sucks with just the right amount of pressure to have Dean’s legs collapsing. Luckily, Dean catches himself on the headboard, balls still tucked nicely in Sam’s mouth, cock filling out with every nano-second.

“Fuck… Can we just do this?” Dean requests, marking this down as _good enough_ , as Sam nods beneath him. Dean starts to stroke his cock, hissing as Sam adds a little teeth, knowing that Dean likes it slightly rough.

“So, no to the tea-bagging, but yes to this? God, I hope it’s a yes,” Dean mutters, body sinking further and further with each stroke of Sam’s tongue or tightening of his lips or gentle graze of his teeth. It gets to the point where Dean’s face is on the pillow, groin as close up to Sam’s face as it can get, and hand stroking back and forth over his cock with quick succession.

Dean would thank God if he ever did anything for them when Sam muffles an audible _yes_ through the gaps, running his hands up Dean’s sides, massaging the tender areas on his way back down, obscene noises starting to spill from his mouth.

Dean starts to roll his hips down, making sure to never block Sam’s nose and restrict his primary airway at this point.

“Sammy, you have no idea how nice this feels. It’s like a massage, but for your balls,” Dean states, biting his lip as Sam suctions harder, provoking Dean’s fingers to curl into the sheets. “As soon as I’m done, it’s your turn. You’re gonna wanna try this.”

Sam pushes Dean up for a second, ignoring the groan of protest. Sam clears his throat first, pleased to not feel anything odd tickling his uvula. “When it’s my turn, can you just go between my legs? I’m a lot heavier than you, an—“

“I get it. I get it. Whatever you want,” Dean gripes out, settling his balls back in Sam’s mouth immediately after. “Mmm…”

 

 


	4. Blindfold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean steals a scarf from a witnesses house for later uses.

Dean would be lying through his teeth if he claimed for one second that he isn’t looking forward to this next try out. The idea came to him the other night, when he had been watching some film on Netflix. Dean can’t for the life of him recall what exactly he had been watching, however he vividly retained the use of a blindfold, which then led him to all sorts of porn sites. Dean had sat there for hours watching videos, ranging from soft-core use of the item, to hard-core uses. Dean assumes that Sam wouldn’t be all for the hard stuff straight away, so that will have to be worked up to another time, if Sam even enjoys the softer side of the act.

They’ve just gotten done with a hunt. Sam is harping on about how useless their witness had been. Dean doesn’t blame him. All she did had been offer them cookies, or a glass of milk. If they had been there any longer, one of them would have called her out on treating them like they’re five. There’s a possibility that she had been hiding something, but there’s not enough there for Dean and Sam to credit that assumption.

Dean had felt that it had been his right to nab one of the scarfs off the hook of the old bats house. She had a million of the things, so she’s not going to miss one. Dean thought of it as the perfect crime, as the two of them don’t have one lingering around the bunker anywhere. They don’t have time to go scarf shopping. For that matter, who does have time for that? Well, certainly not the Winchester’s.

Tuning out Sam’s continuous complaints about the house and the day as a whole, Dean unfurls the scarf from his pocket. He keeps it out of view for now, as he wants to give Sam a chance to relax first. They both deserve a beer after the day they’ve had, even if Dean is more than ready to get started right this second.

“And what was with that—“

“You want a beer?” Dean cuts Sam off, snatching two beers between his fingers from the fridge, thankful that Sam stocked up on them the other night. Dean thinks that Sam constantly stocks the fridge because he doesn’t want to have to deal with Dean’s grumpy ass all day if they’ve been doing research, and Dean has nothing to wet his whistle with.

Sam makes a face like he’s about a second away from bitching about being interrupted, or concerned about Dean’s sudden attitude. Dean actually doesn’t have an attitude right now. In fact, he couldn’t be more excited for tonight’s events.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam finally answers, ambling over to the kitchen to accept the beer from Dean’s outstretched hand. He can fashion a guess as to why Dean didn’t just lob it across the room, as Sam has been rather tired lately. He’s probably worried that there might be some sort of repeat performance of the time that Sam went through the trials of Hell—or it could have been the time that he had Lucifer on his ass all the time---nevertheless, tired Sam isn’t a fully functioning Sam.

Dean and Sam take a seat at the table, across from each other, slowly sipping their beers. Sam can tell that Dean has something on his mind, or at least something that he’s planning to unleash on him later. That hasn’t worked out so well for them in the past, so this time Sam is just going to pry it out of him without a moment’s notice.

“You have something in mind for tonight, don’t you?” Sam phrases it as a question, but it sounds anything other than one.

To Dean’s credit, he answers calmly and casually. “Yes, yes I do.”

“Can you tell me what it is?”

“No, no I can’t,” Dean mutters, grinning around the neck of the bottle.

“Just a hint? Come on, please?” Sam huffs, nudging Dean with the stub of his boot under the table.

Dean rolls his eyes. “You are such a baby, sometimes. It involves not being able to see.”

“What, are you gonna lock me in a room and turn the lights off?” Sam inquires, not at all serious, but he can play this game.

“Of course not, Sammy,” Dean deflects, throwing the scarf down on the table. “Happy?”

Sam observes the colourful item on the table, biting his lip to hold in his laughs. “Uh… Dean, that’s a lovely colour on you. Really. All your clothes should look like this.”

“Ha-ha. All right. Shut up,” Dean grumbles, necking more of his beer. “What it looks like doesn’t matter.”

“I know. It’s the motion of the ocean, right?” Sam winks, synchronising their consumption rate.

Dean’s head tilts. “You know better than anyone that that doesn’t apply to me. I’ve got all of that in spades.”

Now Sam rolls his eyes. “I’m still bigger than you.”

“I’m thicker than you.”

“I can suck dick better than you,” Sam retorts.

Dean places his hand over his heart in mock offence. “Trust me, sweetheart—I ain’t got no problems with that.”

Sam reasons that that’s an acceptable amount of banter for the time being, and takes it back to the topic at hand. “So, the scarf?”

“Blindfold,” Dean reveals, watching Sam’s face to gauge his feelings towards this.

“Okay…” Sam trails off, nursing the rest of his beer. “Well, then let’s get this show on the road. I’m exhausted, and I know that you’re gonna wanna do this tonight. I saw that gleam in your eye, Dean,” he regales, heading for the stairs. It should probably be cause for concern how fast Dean downs his beer after Sam’s proposal. For now, though, Sam’s going to cling to the assumption that Dean’s just far more excited for this one than he’s letting on.

Sam’s understanding is verified a few seconds later, when Dean rushes past him up the stairs, doing a little dance at the top with the scarf, shit-eating grin on his face. Sam asks himself every day why he loves Dean so much—he also asks himself what he doesn’t love about Dean, and fails to find a single reason not to.

There’s fondness in Sam’s eyes as he hikes up the stairs, meeting Dean at the top. They share a quick look before Dean fastens the scarf around Sam’s head in record time. Sam wonders what it’s like for Dean to be the man on the other side for a change, with regards to the blindfold.

“All right, Sammy. No peaking,” Dean commands, sounding like a child with a sugar rush—minus the deep, husky, whiskey-kissed voice that always effectively turns Sam’s legs to non-functioning plates of jell-o—ushering Sam into their bedroom, guiding him down onto the bed.

Dean turns Sam halfway at the foot, lowering him down on to the edge with care. He stares the scarf down, trying to determine whether or not Sam can see through the thing.

From where he’s standing, Dean doesn’t think so. Yet, there is a sure-fire way for him to test that theory.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Dean interrogates, not presenting any digits at all.

“I don’t know, Dean. I can’t see,” Sam states bluntly.

“One more test should prove if you’re lying or not,” Dean announces, sounding so sure of himself. Dean grins coyly as he turns on his heel, trying to keep quiet as he backs up a few steps, stopping at the perfect distance. He thumbs the sides of his jeans and pushes until they expose his ass, grinning all the way as he pushes his ass back until the cheeks are level with Sam’s face.

“Ugh, Dean—get your ass out of my face,” Sam snaps, shoving Dean forward.

Dean stops himself before he falls flat on the floor, pulling his jeans back over his ass. “You’re not supposed to be able to see.”

“I can still use my sense of smell, you ass,” Sam counters, wrinkling his nose.

“Well, excuse me, detective,” Dean jests, rounding on Sam again. “All right, I’ll behave.”

“I don’t believe you, but okay,” Sam concedes, wondering why he _ever_ signed up to this.

Dean carefully removes Sam’s clothing. He tells him when to lift his arms, where to move them. They work as a team, until Sam has nothing on, boxers included. Dean can’t help humming stripper music as he peels his own clothes off, conveying to Sam that he’s missing the best striptease of his life. After a few more childish moments from Dean, they’re both naked, and Dean is _very_ excited.

Sam isn’t, though, so Dean’s going to have to fix that.

Kneeling between Sam’s legs, Dean traces his hands up Sam’s body, letting him feel every inch that his hands give, all the sensations from the warmth of Dean’s palms absorbing and spreading over Sam’s skin. The catch in Sam’s throat is a good sign, but that could just have to do with Dean’s touch, considering Sam does _love_ it.

After tweaking certain areas, paying close attention to Sam’s nipples—rubbing at those little nubs until they’re red-raw and aiming determinedly at _nothing—_ Dean starts to gently slide his hand along Sam’s hardened cock. He pulls back the skin, roughly running his thumb over the head, enjoying the noise it steals from Sam’s throat, a deep grumble that makes Dean’s own cock twitch.

 

“That nice, baby?” Dean asks, not sure if this _has_ to be some sort of silent auction for it to work.

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s good, Dean.”

Dean produces a sound to notify Sam that he got the message. He takes Sam’s balls in his grasp next, rolling them gently over the ridges of his fingers, cataloguing each expression on Sam’s face, trying to discern if this is because of the blindfold or Dean’s natural ability to have Sam in a haze.

“Is the blindfold doing anything for you?” Dean inquires, licking a line from base to tip.

“Um… Not really, no. It’s kind of weird, really. It’s like I’ve been kidnapped, and the monster that did it has a thing for me—he’s very good at it, though,” Sam supplies, face pinching as Dean apparently stops touching him altogether.

“It’s supposed to make it more intense or some shit. You feel none of that?”

Sam sighs. “I just think since I’ve been in this situation—under different circumstances—so many times before, that it’s lost all positivity. Sorry, dude.”

“Take that ugly thing off then,” Dean says with an annoyed tick to his tone, laying Sam out on the bed as soon as it’s gone, settling between Sam’s legs.

“I just don’t think that ones for me, Dean,” Sam reasons, intellectual thoughts starting to dissipate due to Dean’s cock rubbing over his crack. “But I can get on board with this.”

“Can I tell you what I was gonna do, at least?”

Sam nods, hooking his legs behind Dean’s back, eyes darkening.

“First I played with your nipples. Then I played with your balls. Then I was gonna suck your dick until you were just on the edge, and grip you tight enough to stop it. Then I was gonna rim you, ‘cause I know you love that, and finger your ass until you were on the brink again, and then—“

“Dean, just shut up and fuck me,” Sam snaps, jamming the heel of his foot into the meat of Dean’s ass.

“There isn’t a sentence in the world more beautiful than that, Sammy.”

 

 

 


	5. Biting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam likes being bitten.

Sam probably could have told Dean ahead of time that the blindfold thing would never have tipped in their favour. There have been far too many occasions involving one of them being on the receiving end of one, while some crazy son of a bitch monologues about their endgame. Sam isn’t afraid of them. That’s not the issue. It’s what they provoke in him—the memories of all those times forming together as one—that cause them to put a bad taste in Sam’s mouth. Dean may be able block all of that out, but Sam doesn’t have that luxury.

Sam has picked up on Dean’s moments of wonder over the past few days. There are these times where Dean stares off in to space, and Sam can only assume that he’s thinking of something new for them to do. Dean had said to Sam that they weren’t going to tackle the hard stuff until they have been eased in to it enough. Sam doesn’t really have a preference for what they do or what they don’t do. It’s not a bother for him if Dean wants to dive straight in at the deep end, and have him suspended from the rooftops—if that’s what Dean _wants_ to try on Sam.

Then again, Dean can’t really help himself from treating Sam with kid-gloves, even if he is a grown man. There are occasions where Sam can provoke Dean to just go after what he wants, and not think about the consequences afterwards. To be fair, it does take a lot for Sam to get Dean to that point. It doesn’t matter how often Sam says to Dean that he can just do whatever he wants, Dean sees that as taking advantage.

If anything, this whole journey into the land of kinks could be a way for Dean to do what he wants, without feeling like he’s overstepping, as they have a mutual agreement with each other.

Waiting is always the hardest part. Sam’s had a good understanding regarding that for a long time, and it really does suck ass. The things that they have done so far have been… interesting to say the least. Dean had confessed that he really hoped that Sam liked the hair-pulling, as he’d been wanting to tug on it during sex for what seemed like forever, however didn’t want to just spring something on Sam like that, without the proper circumstances.

Sam had just thought it hurt. There hadn’t been some sort of pleasurable twinge on top of the pain, and Sam guesses that both have to be equal, or for the pleasure to outweigh the pain, for there to be any sort of reason to continue it.

Tea-bagging had been nice. When Sam got his turn, Dean made his toes curl. Before they went to sleep, they both agreed that it’s not really a kink. Dean made a point of showing Sam videos of Master Chief tea-bagging his dead opponents in the morning, which they both offered a few laughs to, silently agreeing through a nod that they did it better, and they won’t class it as a kink. Dean then grinned like a madman when Sam said that they can definitely do it again sometime.

Sam’s actually started putting together a list of the things that he likes, and the things that he doesn’t. He’s not sure how full either side is going to be by the end of this adventure, but he’s excited to find out what he does actually like—the secret desires that he’s never had the time to explore.

Dean tends to draw crude stick-figure drawings over the pages, so Sam makes spare copies to set aside for Dean to do with as he pleases. Sam would tell Dean that he thinks it’s actually adorable, but he might get socked in the face, or never be spoken to again.

After all, Sam has a do’s and don’ts list when it comes to Dean, as well. Sam frowns, thinking back on that. The don’ts part of the list is full to the brim, while the do’s are pretty lacklustre. That could be because it helps to just write down the things that are likely to set Dean off…

_Don’t call Dean adorable._

_Don’t mention his height in a way that makes him sound short. He will come out with every_ Giant _joke he can think of, and you’ll never get some sleep._

_Don’t talk about his taste in music. He will turn up the radio, and you will wish that your eardrums would just explode._

_Don’t drink all of the coffee. A cranky Dean is not something you want in your life. Also, he might just go ahead and drink beer before noon._

_Don’t ever act like you’re looking after him when he’s bed-ridden. He’s likely to attack, make himself feel worse due to pride, or force a kiss on you until you’re just as sick as he is._

Sam shares a laugh with himself. Those are just some of the highlights of that list. It took a long time for Sam to compose that list. Dean doesn’t know about it, and he’s never going to know about it. Hence why that’s the last piece of advice on the don’ts part of the list. Sam doesn’t want to know what Dean might do if he figured out that Sam has some sort of method to _handle_ Dean.

Ignoring that thought for now, Sam lifts his head as Dean walks into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge.

“I’m starving,” Dean announces, snatching a half-eaten box of pie from the fridge. He kisses Sam on his temple before taking a seat next to him, flipping the lid of the box to get to his food.

“You feeling better?” Sam asks, yawning into his hand.

Dean shovels a piece of pie into his mouth, moaning at the taste. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Sickness curses are the worst.”

“You’re telling me,” Dean grumbles, sliding his eyes across to the crime-scene photos on Sam’s laptop. “That a new case?”

Sam nods, turning the screen slightly. “Yeah, but I’ll tell you about it later. Just eat. You wouldn’t really be listening, anyway.”

“Good point,” Dean agrees, swallowing another bite. “I think we should explore biting tonight.”

Sam falters for a few moments. “Biting? You bite me all the time.”

“Not what I mean. I’m talking biting ‘til you bleed,” Dean elaborates, sucking the cream off his fork.

“Have you been watching True Blood, Dean?”

Dean frowns. “No. What the fuck is that?”

Shaking his head, Sam switches off his laptop. “Never mind. Are you sure you’re up for that?”

Dean closes the lid of the box and knocks it aside. “I’m fine, Sam. I’m never too ill for sex.”

“I don’t doubt that you could have gone through with it last night, but my ass wouldn’t have made you feel better.”

Smirking, Dean leans in and breathes hot over Sam’s neck. “Maybe not… But it would have _definitely_ taken my mind off it.”  

Sam feels himself heat up from the promise in Dean’s tone. Sex is something that the both of them enjoy on a high level. They don’t get to have it as much as they used to. Not for lack of trying, on their part. Unfortunately, there’s a lot of things that get in the way. Cock-blocking them, to say the least. It could be the Supernatural or the Angels needing their help or someone else needing their help. Apparently, no one can live without them, and they’re to be burdened with the world’s problems.

That’s why this stint into Kinkdom is another excuse for them to get back into it again. Having sex used to be their way of forgetting about the problems of the world, and then some. They would just become so absorbed in the act, that nothing else would matter.

“Biting, huh?”

Dean runs his tongue along Sam’s neck. “I’ve got a feeling that you’re gonna like it. I know how much you love it when I leave my mark on you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” Sam swallows.

“Yeah…” Dean parrots, sinking his teeth into Sam’s neck, compressing his lips down on the pale flesh, drawing the blood up to the surface, breaking the skin with added pressure.

“Woah,” Sam breathes, cock starting to take notice. “That does feel good.”

Releasing Sam’s neck, Dean suggests that they move to the couch, as he doesn’t have it in him to go all the way up the stairs. Sam can’t believe that he actually liked that. His neck is throbbing where Dean left his mark, and he can feel a small trickle of blood blending into his skin. Even though it hurts, Sam’s enjoying it. Sam wonders if it would feel better if Dean left for a few hours… It would be like he’s still here with Sam… This pulsing pain growing on his skin a constant reminder of Dean’s presence in his life.

Yeah… Sam likes it.

They move to the couch, with Dean ripping Sam’s clothes off in his haste to see naked skin, hands running over each stretch. They only had sex three days ago, but Dean’s acting like they haven’t been intimate for a thousand years. It sort of reminds Sam of the time that Dean got back from Hell. Sam had been _sore_ after that event, but it had all been worth it.

Dean spreads Sam’s legs, arching down to lay his teeth over Sam’s thigh, growling as he bears down on it, sucking the blood close, imprinting his teeth on the worthy flesh, moving along and giving each stop the same amount of attention, enjoying the bitten off moans spilling from Sam’s mouth.

“Ah… Fuck… Dean, it hurts, but it feels _so_ good…” Sam rumbles, eyes squeezing shut when Dean reaches the top of his thigh, licking off the small spots of blood seeping through the cracks.

Sam’s not sure how long Dean stays down there, nipping, biting and lathing over his thighs. Sam’s cock is throbbing with need, and his skin is on fire, and Sam can’t help comparing Dean’s enthusiasm for food to this moment right here.

“Would you prefer I call you Buffy? Edward? Spike? Which appeals to you the most, Dean?” Sam mutters, laying his head over the back of the couch, moaning as Dean lifts his leg slightly to decorate more of Sam’s flesh with bites.

“None of the above,” Dean answers, voice shot with arousal, pulling Sam further forward to get deeper.

 


	6. Public Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wants to have sex in public, but Sam's not doing it in the witnesses house.

Dean and Sam are running their usual tests on a witness’s house when the idea hits Dean in the face like a bad pitch. He’s not sure why it never came to him before now. Sex out in the open has always been something that Dean has enjoyed, starting with the broom closets in school. There’s nothing quite like the feeling that someone could walk in on you any second, and see all of what’s going on. Now, the imagery of fucking Sam on some unsuspecting sorry bastards bed won’t leave Dean alone, and he’s been hard for the past five minutes, doing his best to respond to Sam’s questions about what he has on his end, and is there any reason for them to suspect that they have a case here.

Dean’s trying to concentrate. He really is. But the swelling between his legs is making it difficult. Not even tucking his cock behind his waistband is doing anything to lower the amount of blood rushing to that particular area. He’s not sure if Sam’s starting to notice, or if he even cares. After all, Sam’s not usually one to indulge in Dean’s random boner moments. Not that the boner in question is out of the blue whatsoever. It has every reason to be trying to tear through Dean’s black slacks, and Sam bending over to run the EMF along the bottom of the chest of drawers is not helping his situation in the slightest—it’s almost as if Sam’s ass is trying to fit perfectly against the material of Sam’s navy blue dress pants.

Dean groans internally, averting his eyes in an attempt to distance himself from the temptation. Dean knows that it’s not going to work, but he can at least try… For a few seconds, before Sam’s ass develops its own gravitational pull, and suddenly Dean is much closer to it than he was a few seconds ago, and his hands are sealing themselves around Sam’s hips before he has a chance to stop them.

“Dean… What are you doing?” Sam questions, as Dean’s _painfully obvious_ erection presses up against his ass.

Dean ignores Sam. “What do you think about us having sex in public?” he returns instead, rolling his hips.

“This isn’t public. It’s a house.”

“It’s not _our_ house,” Dean counters, sliding his hands up Sam’s sides.

Sam stands up to his full height and shuffles out of Dean’s hold. “Not here,” he says sternly, carrying on with his investigation of the house.

Later on, Sam will tell Dean that he sulked for four hours straight, and Dean will insist that he was manly brooding. That hasn’t happened yet, but they both know that it’s going to.

“Why not? They’re not gonna barge in on the F.B.I,” Dean reasons, stroking Sam’s hip.

“Not. Here,” Sam solidifies his point, patting Dean’s hand in a calming gesture, which Dean misinterprets as patronising him.

“Fine,” Dean draws out, storming off in a huff to focus on the other bedrooms.

The two of them go about their searches in silence. Sam tries a couple of times to engage Dean in conversation, however gives up after the last exaggerated act of Dean pretending that he heard something, but can’t quite figure out where it came from, or what it could be.

Unbeknownst to Dean, Sam is actually far more aware of Dean’s interest in having sex in strange places. Dean used to explain to Sam in detail what he got up to in those situations before they became a thing. It sounds hot in theory, but Sam’s not sure if it’s going to be the sort of thing that he can get in to. As far as Sam is concerned, everything looks better on camera, and Dean used to be one of those people that didn’t care where he got it, as long as he got it. For all Sam knows, Dean could still very much be the same way, but it’s not something that they’ve done together as a unit as of yet.

To Sam, having sex on someone else’s bed would just be like having sex on a bed. That’s it. They’ve had sex in plenty of motel beds. And Sam knows for a fact that the tenants were aware of the two of them going at it like wild animals. Some of them even winked at them. Dean ate it all up, slapping Sam’s ass in open view with the biggest grin on his face, while Sam lowered his head and dared Dean in his mind to say anything about it.

Isn’t that technically what Dean’s aiming for here?

Eventually, they leave the witnesses house with nothing to go on. Sam concludes aloud that there’s nothing for them here, and it was a mistake on his part. Dean doesn’t answer him, or even pretend that he was listening, instead turning up the radio and loudly singing along to the music, drumming a beat on the steering wheel.

If Dean’s using Sam’s distaste for being ignored against him, Sam is not going to be happy about it. Not at all. He’s not just going to tell Dean to stop outside an alley, and let Dean fuck him hard against a wall just so Dean will talk to him again.

Sam’s made of stronger stuff than that.

Two hours into their ride is the point where Sam reaches his limit. There’s only so much someone can stand, and Sam’s not prepared to sit there in silence anymore when Dean is intentionally doing everything in his power to not have to communicate with him.

“Would you stop sulking? I said not _there._ I didn’t say no to your proposal, jerk,” Sam grumbles, glaring at Dean.

“First of all, I am not sulking. I’m manly brooding. Secondly, you know how difficult it is for me to function when I’m hard enough to cut glass,” Dean retorts, shutting off the music in case of this turning out to be a long-winded argument.

“Yeah, I know. _Sorry_ you had to suffer through that. But that doesn’t mean that you have to ignore me.”

“ _You_ are the reason I got a chubby in the first place. Ignoring _you_ was the only thing keeping Dean Jr at bay,” Dean explains, turning on to a parking lot.

“We’re going to a bar? What, so you can talk to your beer instead of me?” Sam accuses, huffing.

“Beer won’t talk back. And beer never turns down sex,” Dean replies, shrugging as he shuts off the engine.

“Newsflash, Dean,” Sam pauses, getting out of the car. “I didn’t turn you down. I just wasn’t in the mood then.”

“Well, are you in the mood now?” Dean tries, locking the Impala and pocketing the keys. Sam’s glare is answer enough, and Dean inwardly screams himself hoarse as they enter the bar, throwing their jackets over a couple of seats with their own table. After ordering themselves two beers, they park it on their chairs, neither of them willing to break the tension.

Sam fashions a guess that half an hour has passed when Dean opens his mouth again, telling Sam that _he_ could be the beer bottle right now if he wanted to, with an inclination of his head towards the bathroom. As much as Sam would very much enjoy being that bottle, at this point he would much rather the bottle be Dean, so he can suck down Dean’s resolve, and get him to admit that he’s just being a great big baby, who was told they can’t have their ice-cream until after dinner.

Sometimes, Dean needs to admit when he’s being childish, and not try to justify his moping with colourful comparisons to his manhood not getting any.

Without a word, Sam gets up from his seat. He walks over to the bathroom, and turns his head to arch an eyebrow at Dean in invitation, not opening the door to the men’s room until Dean practically bolts out of his chair.

Sam walks straight over to one of the cubicles, ignoring the other residents of the bathroom. He keeps it unlocked, and then pops a squat on the toilet seat, waiting patiently for Dean to find him. Well, not exactly patiently. About as patient as you can be when you’re pissed off.

The sound of the door opening appears louder in Sam’s mind. He’s not sure what Dean’s going to do. Is he going to wait for the other guys to leave, and then join him in the cubical? Is he just going to waltz straight up to it, knowing that people would have seen Sam go in there already?

Next door, someone enters, locking it behind them. The shoes appearing under the wall are none other than Dean’s F.B.I loafers, so Sam leans forward a touch to lock his own door, pondering what Dean plans to do from the other side, which is when Sam witnesses Dean’s index finger sliding through a hole in the wall.

“ _You’re kidding me, right?”_ Sam whispers harshly, regretting this plan instantly. How is he supposed to get anything out of Dean this way? The point of a glory hole is to get in, get your kicks and get out, while not giving away to the room what exactly is going on behind closed doors.

In way of answering, Dean unzips his dress pants and pulls his cock out, presenting it through the hole. Sam tries to ignore the thought of Dean grinning like a fool, resigning himself to just get this over with already.

Sam takes Dean into his mouth, not surprised by how quickly Dean goes from zero to hero. This probably isn’t the first time that Dean has been in this position, which could explain how Dean is expertly thrusting his hips without banging into the wall.

This is kind of hot… Minus the smell of the place, but Sam can ignore that in favour of taking Dean further down his throat. There’s something about the atmosphere that prompts Sam to amp up his enthusiasm, not even caring about the wet noises producing from his mouth as Dean fucks his throat. He’s rock hard in his own jeans, and he can hear the sounds of the taps shutting off, the door to the bathroom opening and closing, as other men leave and enter the room, oblivious to the significance of the only two bathroom stalls remaining occupied far past the normal time usage rate.

“ _Fuck, Sammy… This is so hot,”_ Dean rumbles quietly, wishing that they could have done this sooner.

Sam swallows around Dean in agreement, curling his hand around Dean’s cock to control the pace, twisting and turning as he tightens his lips.

Which is the moment that Dean curses above lower register, which is then followed by the moment of some jack peering over the top of the cubical and spotting Dean with his cock drilling the hole.

“Hey, can I get a turn after you?” the random asks, about to go and check out the other side, when he gets a mouth full of metal.

“Get out,” Dean commands, cocking the gun for effect, which actually turns Sam on more than he’s willing to admit. Dean being possessive has _always_ turned Sam on more than he’s willing to admit.

Sam takes the door crashing open as a sign that the guy left, and the blowback of haggard footsteps as an indication that they’re alone in here now.

He pulls off of Dean’s dick, jerking it slowly as he thinks of something to say. “That a step too far for you, Dean?”

“What, you think I’m gonna let some douchebag get his kicks off you? You’re a no fly zone for anyone but me, Sammy,” Dean growls, and Sam tongues the underside of Dean’s cock in agreement.

“I don’t think it’s the public thing that I like, Dean,” Sam confesses, tugging Dean’s balls through the hole to cradle them in his palm. “I just think it’s the idea of them walking in on _me_ on my knees for _you.”_

“So, that’s a yes to sex in public?” Dean questions hopefully, about to call Sam’s name when he doesn’t get a response. He stops himself when he hears pants being pulled down, and senses the head of his cock rubbing over Sam’s hole.

“It’s a yes. As long as there’s a chance that they can walk in and see you taking what’s yours, Dean,” Sam husks, accepting Dean’s length into his body, moaning when his ass-cheeks come into contact with the cold wall.

“Oh, is that it?” Dean lowers his voice, slowly sliding in and out of Sam’s ass. “You want all those poor, unsuspecting rejects to catch you with your pants around your ankles, and my cock splitting you open?”

“God yes,” Sam grits, pushing his ass back onto Dean’s cock, flexing his rim the moment Dean’s mushroom head catches on it. “And you better make it clear that that’s all they’re ever gonna see of me.”

Dean grins, flexing his fingers at the top of the wall, using it as leverage to fuck harder into Sam. “Oh, don’t you worry, baby. They’ll never dream of having you after the show I give them.”


	7. Somnophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys try out Somnophilia, with Dean as the sleeping party.

“Let me just see if I’ve got this right…” Sam trails off, trying his best in this moment not to look judgmental. “You want me to _pretend_ to be asleep, while you… Do stuff to me?” Sam clarifies, losing the war on not completely judging Dean in this moment. After all, it’s not something that he ever saw coming, and what is _anyone_ supposed to get out of that? To Sam, it just sounds really creepy.

“That’s what it is, yeah. Somnophilia or something,” Dean mutters, not really understanding why someone as smart as Sam has taken this long to come to terms with the mechanics of this particular kink. Dean hasn’t got a full grip on it himself. He’s not sure where the kinky aspect comes from, other than the person feigning sleep. There’s a lot of stories about it on the internet, so Dean figures that they should give it a try. He’s not sure if he would class it as a hard core kink just yet…

“Am I supposed to, I don’t know, _wake up_ at some point, and take my chances at an Oscar nomination? I just don’t understand the concept of this at all, Dean,” Sam confesses, beginning to contemplate just how they have had this much time on their hands lately. This never happens for them… Maybe they _had_ the time, and just didn’t _do_ anything with it.

Dean sighs, finishing his whiskey chaser. “I guess it’s about wanting that person, and only being able to take what you want when they’re not conscious of it,” Dean offers, figuring out in his head how he’s going to be able to pull this off. He already has what he wants. Although, when they were younger, there were moments where he wanted to do something like that. It never would have worked out well for him, as none of the Winchester’s are what you would call heavy sleepers.

Sam rolls his shoulders back, releasing the tension from his earlier scuffle with a vengeful spirit. “It just all seems very strange to me. I’m not sure how I’ll feel about it if it turns out I actually like it.”

“All I can say, Sammy, is that you won’t know until you try,” Dean states evenly. It’s not as if Dean can’t understand where Sam’s coming from. If the shoe were on the other foot, he’d probably be weirded out, too. “If you want, I could be the one sleepin’?”

“What would I have to do?” Sam questions, interest piqued.

Dean shrugs. “Crawl under the covers? Suck my dick? Ride me? I don’t know,” he lists off, unclasping the first two buttons on his shirt.

“I guess that could work,” Sam concedes thoughtfully, not at all seeing the appeal of this, but willing to go along with it anyway.

They make their way to the bedroom, both slightly nervous, as this isn’t something that either of them are hard-up for. Dean strips down to his boxers and crawls into bed. Sam throws the covers off of him before he can settle into any kind of position, as he just knows Dean will not be able to help himself from laughing out loud at the sight of Sam’s huge frame raising the bedsheets.

Dean apparently agrees because he doesn’t kick up a fuss about it. Instead, he stretches out on his back, tucking one arm behind his head, while the other curves over his stomach, legs spread just a touch.

“Do you want a few minutes?” Sam asks, anxiously biting his lip.

“Nah. I’m good. Start whenever,” Dean dismisses, closing eyes to signal action.

Sam frowns. “Wouldn’t you wake up if I touched you? I mean, this is _you_ …”

“Well, then in this universe, I’m not such a light sleeper,” Dean counters, shuffling his body to find a more comfortable position.

“This is really weird, Dean.”

“Shut and get on with it, Sam,” Dean demands, sounding exhausted already.

Clearing his throat, Sam settles between Dean’s legs, running his palms up Dean’s chest, eyes locked on his face the whole time. Sam tries to think of something to do. He’s effectively—no, that’s not what this is. They’re just trying things out. Even if it goes better than they think it’s going to, it’s not likely that they’ll be doing this on a regular basis.

Sam nods to himself, breathing out a long breath. He bends down until his mouth is level with Dean’s boxers, focusing on the impression of Dean’s penis against the material. He’s done this to Dean plenty of times—just not in this situation—he can go through with it. Almost anything goes with Dean, as long as he’s got something nice and warm wrapped around his cock.

Sam mouths the outline, using his tongue to lathe over the material, hoping to trigger an erection. It figures that it wouldn’t take more than a few licks for Dean to start taking notice, and begin immediately rising to the occasion. When Dean is nice and hard, Sam shifts his cock around until it slides through the waistband. He lifts his head slightly to take the crown into his mouth, sucking the pre-come out of the slit, sealing his lips around the exposed flesh and gently suckling at it.

Dean’s leg twitches, which tells Sam that he likes that, and he’s trying not to break character. So, Sam continues his descent, pulling Dean’s boxers back with each inch down, until he has his head craned at an awkward angle, settling Dean’s cock all the way down his throat. Sam moves his head back and forth, pointing the tip of his tongue and guiding it along the larger veins as he travels back, taking Dean’s cock twitching in his mouth as a really good sign.

Considering Dean’s not actually asleep, Sam amplifies the sound of his breathing, effectively overemphasizing the wet sounds of his tongue and lips dragging back over Dean’s cock. Sam inwardly high-fives himself when Dean’s hips stagger and then still, being kept at bay now by the tensing of Dean’s thigh muscles.

It’s all going fantastically well until Dean decides to let one rip. And it’s not a quiet, won’t be discovered until the smell envelopes the air one… No, it’s a loud one. One that cannot be avoided.

“Did you just—“

“I pass gas in my sleep. You want it to be real or not?” Dean deflects easily, grinning smugly.

“But you’re _not_ asleep, Dean!” Sam yells, putting distance between the two of them. “That’s just gross.”

“Your head was on my belly. I needed to fart. You were doing such a great job swallowing my dick whole and I didn’t want to disturb you,” Dean explains smoothly, still pretending to be dead to the world.

Sam glares at him. “You couldn’t have done that before we started this?”

“I didn’t have a sasquatch using my belly as a pillow, then,” Dean reminds Sam, using the distance to kick his boxers off of him. “Now, are you gonna get back to it, or what?”

“Are you gonna fart again?” Sam accuses, narrowing his eyes at Dean’s open legs.

“Who’s to say? I’m asleep, remember?” Dean replies with a cheeky smirk, like he’s not at all sorry for what he just did. “Besides, Sam—it’s natural. If I held it in, I’d just be in pain. Is that what you want?” 

Rolling his eyes, Sam exits the room to grab some deodorant from the bathroom. He unleashes it on Dean as soon as he takes the cap off, aiming at Dean’s open legs. He smirks to himself when Dean yelps at the burn, throwing it on the floor when he’s done.

Dean grinds his teeth and takes deep breaths, narrowing his eyes at Sam. “You know that hurts, right? You’re not supposed to get aerosol on your butthole, Sam,” he growls, glaring heatedly.

“Next time you think about farting during play time—don’t,” Sam returns easily, not expecting Dean to leap as fast and as hard as does in this moment, knocking Sam straight to the ground.

Sam’s about to try and flip their positions, when he feels his pants being pulled back, and one of his cheeks being parted as Dean clicks the top of the spray can and releases it on Sam’s ass. He yelps at the sudden burn, scrabbling at the floor for something to use to get Dean off of him.

He doesn’t have to wait long, as apparently that’s all Dean had wanted to do, settling himself back down on the bed, watching Sam twitch and writhe. “Doesn’t feel so nice, does it?” Dean mutters, feeling a little guilty because he knows that it’s painful.

“We’re not having sex tonight,” Sam states thinly, getting up onto his knees. “If this burns, I can’t imagine what it would be like on the inside, and I don’t want to.”

“Fair enough,” Dean agrees, reclining back on the bed. “Guess Somnophilia is a definite _never_ again.”

Sam moves himself until he’s next to Dean on the bed, spreading his legs to let the air get to it. “You can say that again.”

 


	8. Hotdog-Docking on the Kitchen Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys try Docking and Hotdogging in one evening.

Sam rubs his tired eyes, throwing one book away and securing another one in his grip, peeling it open to browse the contents. There are a lot of doubts in his mind that this will lead him down the right path and actually be beneficial to the case that they’re currently working on, but John Winchester always used to tell them to never let one stone be left unturned. In theory, that’s not bad advice. In terms of getting the job done fast, it’s not going to happen if that’s how people choose to approach it.

There are a lot of other ways that they could be obtaining information. They could go out and torture _something_ until it told them what they needed to know. They could bag and tag samples that might be of use in finding whatever this thing is. They could even put themselves out as bait, and wait for the unsuspecting fugly creature to come after them, unbeknownst to whatever their plan might be for it.

Sadly, Dean and Sam are not as young as they used to be. Of course if they wanted to, they could still do all of that. However, when you have somewhere in the world where it doesn’t require you to put your life at risk quite as much, wouldn’t it be silly _not_ to opt for that?

Sam thinks it would be. Dean also agrees, which isn’t something that Sam would have believed a few years ago. It’s refreshing to know that Dean isn’t just waiting for that moment that he reaches his inevitable end, and is fine with dying if it means that Sam will live on. It’s in situations like those where Sam needs to get across to Dean that he _doesn’t’_ want that—not now, not ever—that alcohol is quite possibly the greatest invention in the world.

They’ve been through so much together. It would be heart-breaking for one of them to perish, while the other lives on in misery. Although it nearly killed Dean then and there on the spot, Sam had to make it clear to him that if Dean goes, Sam’s going with him intentionally or unintentionally. There will be no argument, and there will be no Dean feeling sorry for himself, as it will be Sam’s choice to fall on his sword, or to shove the barrel of a gun in his mouth.

Sam ignores those thoughts. It’s not something that he likes to think about, even if they do come at him from all angles in his dreams. He supposes that this is why this is good for them. This project that they’re working on. It’s something that a _relatively_ normal couple would do, and it keeps their mind off of what could possibly go down in the future. Sam’s not prepared to allow those dark thoughts of his to get in the way of this, when he can honestly say that he hasn’t been this happy in a long time.

Actually, it’s a struggle to even dredge up when he had last been this happy. There’s this constant thrill, even if he has a lot to say about what they do. But he can’t help but get giddy over the next thing that Dean is going to come out with. Sam’s more than surprised at himself how willing he is to just go through with it. He’s sure that some of the things he may have to put his foot down on… Then again, sometimes Dean can be a real pain in his ass—and not in the good way—when he doesn’t get what he wants.

Well, Sam is sure that if he really doesn’t want it, Dean won’t try to convince him otherwise. After all, it had been Dean at the start of this who said that Sam has to tell him if he doesn’t like something, and not go through with it just because Dean might be having a good time with it.

Sam yawns, rubbing his eyes again with the pads of his fingers. There’s no telling how long he’s been at this. Sam can’t help feeling like he’s been sat here for days. He knows in the back of his mind that it hasn’t been close to that long, but his back sure feels that way.

“Sam, you in the kitchen?” Dean calls, followed by the locking of the bunker and footsteps that indicate Dean’s wearing his F.B.I boots.

“Yeah,” Sam replies, turning to the next page. He doesn’t look up when Dean enters his space. If he does, he’s just going to lose his part on the page, and he’s not sure that his eyes are up for retracing it right now.

“So, that clerk was a complete bust. Couldn’t get anything out of him. I think he might have been into the occult, but then everyone seems to be getting pentagram tattoos these days, so who the Hell knows? Anyway, I checked out a couple of other places afterwards, and got squat. How about you? Anything?” Dean informs Sam, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over the back of the chair. He grabs himself a beer from the fridge, waiting for Sam to respond before he pops the cap.

“Nope. Nothing,” Sam replies, sighing.

“You’d think after all the ugly sons of bitches we’ve come across, we’d just _know_ what we’re dealing with by now,” Dean muses, settling into his own chair, kicking his feet up on Sam’s knees under the table.

Sam unconsciously brings them closer together to create a better foundation for Dean to balance on. “Yeah. You’d think that’d be the case here,” he agrees evenly, drawing up a reference to a line in the page on his tablet. He huffs when it’s a dead end, closing out the tab to continue his perusals.

“Maybe you should take a break, dude? I don’t want you going blind on me,” Dean suggests, necking his beer.

Closing the book, Sam rubs his eyes _again_ and gives Dean a look. “You’re probably right. There’s not much else we can do now, right?”

“Exactly, Sam. The one thing we do know is that whatever this is does things a few days in between,” Dean reasons, shielding the worry behind his eyes. Sam can see it clear as day, but he’s not going to comment on it because he understands why it’s there.

“What do you wanna do now then?” Sam questions, slipping Dean’s shoes off. He starts to methodically massage Dean’s feet. It’s more or less for something to keep him busy, and he knows that Dean appreciates it when he does.

Dean grins broadly. “I was thinking we could try docking and hotdogging.”

Sam frowns, flexing his thumbs to really dig through the tension on Dean’s heels. “What, and what?”

“Docking is when you slide your cock into another cock’s foreskin. I figure ‘cause I’m cut and you’re not that we should take advantage of that. And hotdogging is when you fuck the seam of someone’s ass,” Dean explains vividly, making actions with his hands to further emphasise his point, grinning when Sam makes a face at him like he’s being a huge dork.

“I get how the second one could be some sort of kink, but the first? That’s obviously gonna feel good for both of us,” Sam ponders, playing it out in his head. He does have a sensitive crown… Then again, with the two of them, they might fuck it up completely if history decides to repeat itself.

“Then we’ll do docking as a start up, and I’ll ride your crack and see if you get anything out of it,” Dean says with a shrug, finishing his beer with a few more swallows.

“Do we have to go upstairs? I can’t really be bothered right now,” Sam questions, pushing his chair out.

“Nah, we can do it here,” Dean states, whipping his cock out. He meets Sam around the middle, giving him an expectant look when he doesn’t immediately pull down his pants. He cradles Sam’s cock in his warm palm when it’s out, moving from base to tip, testing different pressures to get Sam up and ready.

“Is this just an excuse to play with my dick?” Sam jests, amused by the look of avid concentration on Dean’s face as he pulls back the foreskin, pushing his finger under it to see how much room they have to play with. Sam squeaks a little as Dean uses both hands to stretch the skin out, seeing how far it will expand.

“I can play with your dick whenever I want,” Dean mutters like it’s obvious, jerking his own a few times and slicking the head with pre-come.

Sam bites his lip as Dean swings his hips, effectively brushing his cock along Sam’s, knocking it into its own side to side frenzy. That feels really nice, but it’s not like he was expecting anything different. It feels like when he rubs his thumb over it. With enough pressure, it can have him falling to his knees in seconds flat. The thing about men only thinking with their dicks is partly true, Sam assumes, as sometimes he could swear that it is linked to his brain, in the event that proper-handling of it can get people what they want—like driving for forty miles on a cold night just to get this pie that _someone_ has been _dying_ to try.

It goes both ways, though, so it’s all good.

Dean looks up at Sam thoughtfully as he pulls Sam’s foreskin over his crown, using the motion of his hips to grind back and forth, eliciting equal pleasurable shudders from the both of them.

“That’s nice, huh, Sammy? I knew there was a reason you weren’t meant to get cut,” Dean says, curling his hand around their connected lengths, easing the movement with a controlled smooth glide that nearly has Sam’s knees buckling.

“It is, yeah,” Sam responds, using the side of the table to keep himself upright. At this point, it’s taking everything in his power to stay mobile.

Dean loosens his grip a touch, pushing down into the clutch, breathing deeply at the pulsing feeling shooting through the both of them.

“You know, Dean… This is gonna be really gross if you come,” Sam warns, squeezing his eyes shut as Dean slows down the pace that little bit more, making them both _really_ feel it.

Dean scoffs. “I’m not gonna shoot just yet. I’ve got better control than that,” he counters, reaching around Sam to stroke his fingers over Sam’s hole, relishing in the subtle contractions due to the pressure on both their cocks.

Sam arches into it. “Then we should probably move on to the other thing,” he suggests, flooding his mind with memories of all the disgusting creatures that they’ve executed over the years.

“Why, you getting’ close?” Dean mutters, and Sam rolls his eyes at the smugness in Dean’s tone, using his strength to pry them apart. “All right, all right. Turn around, drop your pants and bend over,” Dean instructs, grinning up at Sam.

Sam does as he’s told after pulling Dean into a quick kiss. He didn’t get to do that earlier, and it’s kind of hard to function when he hasn’t.

“Are you gonna give me my physical? What happened to Dr. Morgan?” Sam jokes, pulling a chair out to brace his hands on.

Dean saddles up behind Sam, parting Sam’s cheeks to tease his crown over his hole, enjoying the bitten off complaint that his action provoked. “Dr. Morgan left me in charge. I have to tell you that I have a more hands on approach, though,” Dean replies, joining in on the scenario, pressing his cock between Sam’s ass-cheeks.

Sam arches an eyebrow at the first thrust up, wondering if the sound that Dean just made is either good or bad.

“What exactly am I supposed to get out of this?”

Dean pushes Sam’s cheeks harder, effectively trapping his cock that much more. “Can’t you feel it against your crack?” Dean suspects, driving himself crazy with the next slow grind.

“Sort of… Not enough to drive me wild or whatever this is supposed to do…”

“Maybe I’m supposed to shove hotdogs in your mouth.”

“Maybe this is more for the _other_ person,” Sam retorts, swivelling his ass to teach Dean a lesson.

“Fuck… Yeah, okay. You’re right,” Dean concedes, leaning over Sam’s clothed back and slowly rocking back and forth.

“Are you… Are you almost there?” Sam accuses, not willing to argue when Dean wraps his hand around his cock.

“You better believe it,” Dean rumbles, quickening his pace, not caring _at all_ that he’s going to have to wash and dry his shirt after this.

Sam frowns. “Why don’t you just put it in me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Dean shoots back lazily, grinding his hips a few more times and then firing thick, hot ropes of come up Sam’s back, just managing to lift Sam’s shirt at the last minute so he can watch it pool on Sam’s creamy flesh.

“Yeah, I would have, you jerk,” Sam complains, about to tear Dean a new one, when Dean quickens his strokes up and down Sam’s cock, pulling out all of his stunts to shut his trap, until Sam comes all over the chair with a hoarse cry.

“Happy?” Dean asks after they both even out their breaths.

“Docking is good. Hotdogging is boring. Feel accomplished?” Sam says as he cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of Dean’s head lolling on his shoulders.

“I’d like to think that I do, Sammy.”


	9. Low-key Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets toys for Sam.

Dean’s been here for all of five minutes, and he can honestly say that some of this crap makes his stomach churn more than the things that they hunt every day. If one of those nightly walkers were to whip out any of these things, Dean would be running for the hills in a heartbeat. He’s just lucky that _he’s_ not the one that’s going to be on the receiving end of this stuff.

When the two of them became a thing, Dean had tried to be open to being versatile in the bedroom, as they had both only been with women throughout the entirety of their sexual adventures, and Dean had assumed that Sam wouldn’t want to give that side of himself up. Fortunately, their first time went about as smooth as it could be where the two of them were concerned, and Sam had spread his legs without question. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that Sam had asked if Dean wanted to try out being the catcher.

To Dean’s credit, he felt that it was only fair that he took one for the team every once in a while, even though the very idea of it had his stomach in knots. Dean couldn’t quite believe it when Sam called him out on his bullshit, telling him that he would never do anything that Dean wasn’t comfortable trying out—that they were fine the way that they are now, and nothing has to change between them. Sam then went on to explain that he just thought that Dean might like to experience how he made Sam feel, and that there would be no point them even getting into that if Dean _really_ didn’t have any interest in switching their positions.

Again, Dean had attempted to tell Sam that he would be okay with changing the roles if that was what Sam wanted, but Sam assured him that he would only ever _want_ to do it if that was what Dean desired. Eventually, after a lot of back and forth, Dean showed Sam just how much he appreciated that, confessing that he would do it _for_ Sam, even if the very notion of it made him sick to his stomach, which Sam accepted with some sort of look that could only be translated to mean that that’s enough for him—and it has never been brought up again since.

Dean wonders why they didn’t at least try toys out before now. He guesses that it’s to do with the fact that they don’t normally have time to tease and play until they get to the main event. Nevertheless, if they’re going to be doing this, they’re going to be doing it right. A lot of people have looked at him since he walked into the store. He only knows because he’s been trained to notice when there are eyes on him, but he really could care less what they want, or what they look like. Unless they’re staff that he can interrogate about the use of some of this stuff, then he doesn’t need to even acknowledge their existence.

Halfway through one of the aisles, Dean picks up an egg-shaped thing. He looks at it like it insulted his mother, shaking it in his hand. There’s a dull noise, but that’s all he can make out. Dean lifts it next to his ear and shakes it again, understanding that there must be something inside the egg that is making that sound. It’s not in a box, so there aren’t any instructions that could tell him just what that is, or what he is supposed to do with it if he decides to take it home.

“That’s a vibrating egg,” a young woman, looking very vanilla with her platinum blonde hair and her manicured nails informs him. Certainly not the type of person that Dean would expect to see in a shop like this. He assumes that she works here, as she has a name tag. Then again, who’s to say that she’s not some work-a-day lady looking to score a new toy to relax her when she gets home? Dean mentally shrugs, holding the egg up as if to ask if she does in fact mean this thing.

“Is that what the thing inside is?” Dean questions, turning it in his hand.

Hannah nods her head, staring shamelessly at Dean’s lips. “Yeah. You look like you haven’t been to a place like this before. First time trying out toys?”

“Yeah. Can I put this one in my partner’s ass, or is it strictly for the vagina?” Dean asks rather bluntly, arching an eyebrow when Hannah takes a few seconds to come back to the world of the living.

“You can, yes,” she finally responds, feeling a hot flush coming over her.

“Great. Is there some sort of remote to this thing?”

Hannah takes the object in question from Dean’s hand. “Well, this is the display item. The real thing comes with a box, that does have a remote with it. It has six separate functions, but it’s advised that first timers only go as far as level three.”

“Sam can handle it,” Dean states easily, setting up a reminder in his head to ask for the sex-egg thing when he gets to the counter, as he assumes that’s where he’ll get the full package.

Hannah follows Dean without permission. “So, have you done your research? Or are you just going to pick stuff up and hope for the best, because you could potentially hurt Sam that way,” she muses, leading him away from the foot-long dildo that ‘Sam’ will probably not appreciate on his first go round.

“I dunno. We’re new to this stuff,” Dean says, about to grab a _Bunny,_ when Hannah leads him towards the male on male section, steering him to the more low-key stuff before he gets any ideas. She might not know this man personally, but she can tell when someone is far too enthusiastic and likely to overdo it.

“Are either of you into BDSM?”

Dean shrugs. “We haven’t gotten that far.”

Hannah stops herself from asking just exactly what that means, choosing instead to pick out a prostate massager. “If the point of the game isn’t to humiliate your partner—for kinky reasons—then this is probably something that Sam will enjoy. It’s designed to settle right alongside the prostate. The material has been tested and verified as comforting, without irritation or wear and tear. It only has one setting, but it should put Sam in the mood for just about anything.”

“You haven’t met him,” Dean mutters with a laugh, deciding that he may as well give it a try.

About an hour later, Dean has two bags full of toys, along with the knowledge on how to use them on Sam in a safe way, that won’t take sex off the table for the next few weeks. All in all, Dean’s feeling excited. He’s not sure why Hannah followed him around the store and explained everything to him, but she did seem to be undressing him with her eyes, so go figure.

By the time he gets back to the bunker, it’s late afternoon, which still gives them plenty of time to try out a few things. Dean’s excited. He’s not going to lie. It doesn’t even bother him that he’s not going to get anything out of the toys, as they are all for Sam, but he’s sure as hell going to get a thing or two out of seeing Sam enjoying himself.

Well, Dean hopes that Sam is going to enjoy himself.

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean projects, locating Sam in the kitchen spreading some jam on to his toast. If that’s the only thing that Sam has eaten today, Dean is going to be pissed. He’ll have to force feed him some other time, though, because right now they have toys to play with.

“Tell me you have human heads in those bags,” Sam murmurs, taking a bite out of his toast, placing his hand on the edge of the counter, regarding Dean coolly.

“You could tell? There goes me thinking I was being real subtle about it,” Dean tacks on, depositing his bags on top of the table. He keeps his eye on Sam’s reactions as he starts to lay them out on display, pleased that Sam isn’t losing his appetite with each item that makes its appearance.

“You’ve been busy,” Sam points out the obvious, roaming his eyes over the various toys laid out on the table, varying in size and colour. They’re interesting at the very least.

“You’ve got a sex-egg that comes with a remote. You’ve got a prostate massager. You’ve got a vibrating butt-plug, anal beads, this lube that’s supposed to make you all tingly, a vibrating cock ring and a fleshlight,” Dean explains, holding each one up for Sam’s inspection as he goes along.

Dean looks so _excited_ about all of this that Sam can’t help but smile. Sam can tell that _none_ of this stuff is for Dean’s pleasure—that everything that Dean brought home is _for_ Sam—to make Sam feel good, and it looks like it cost a pretty penny from the appearance of all these objects. Sam’s a bit apprehensions about giving them all a go, but he would have to be a stone-cold, heartless wench to not give any of them a try after all the effort that Dean has put into it.  

“So, what’s your plan for all of this?” Sam inquires, setting his plate on the counter. He supposes that it could be worse. There’s nothing on the table that could potentially scar him for life. Well, that’s what he’s banking on at this point.

Dean grins broadly, kissing Sam long and deep for a few beats of time, admiring the instant glazed look in Sam’s eyes that follows. He piles the toys back into the bag, and gestures for Sam to accompany him to the bedroom. He’s happy to notice that Sam looks a lot more interested than he does anxious, so he’s going to go ahead and label that a win.

In the bedroom, Dean slowly undresses Sam, kissing and licking exposed flesh as he makes his way along, adding to pre-existing bites in his wake, keeping them fresh and well maintained. Sam moans at the worship, sucking in a hard breath when Dean lingers around his hip bone, bearing down on the creamy flesh with just the _right_ amount of force, which is then followed by Dean’s skilled hands sliding Sam’s trousers down his long, toned legs, shucking off Sam’s boots when he gets to the bottom.

“You really are _something,_ Sammy. You know that?” Dean almost scolds Sam, staring up at him as he runs his hands smoothly up Sam’s legs, curving over his ass and pausing when he has both round cheeks secured in his palms.

Sam’s happy to just stay still for now, allowing Dean to admire every inch of his body. Dean knows Sam back to front—inside and out—but he seems to never get tired of running his eyes over Sam’s glorious skin, muttering just how perfect Sam is to him under his breath, sometimes releasing hot whispers against Sam’s heated flesh, dragging his lips over his favourite parts, dipping his devious tongue into Sam’s willing navel, tweaking each rib bone as he crawls up Sam’s body with the pads of his fingers.

When Dean gets like this, Sam feels like a work of art, even if he’s not so sure about most of the things that Dean says about him. Often, he wonders what Dean sees. In times like those, Dean makes it his life mission to show Sam just _how much_ Dean believes what he says is true.

“So fucking perfect, Sammy,” Dean growls huskily, standing up to seal their lips in a brain-melding kiss. He doesn’t stop until they’re both spread out on the bed, and Dean no longer has his shirt and shoes. He breaks the kiss to hold Sam’s head between his palms, trying his hardest to draw back the blinds over his eyes to offer to Sam the raw love and devotion that he feels for him.

“Are you all right, Dean? Did you get hit by a love spell when I wasn’t looking?” Sam questions humorously, giving Dean an out of this sudden funk.

“Nope. Sometimes it just hits me how lucky I am, and I feel like it’s my duty or whatever to tell you just how amazing you are,” Dean answers honestly, laying a soft, gentle and loving kiss on Sam’s lips. “But enough of all that. Let’s play, baby.”

Sam rolls his eyes, shifting his body accordingly as Dean snatches something from the bag. It’s the lube that he mentioned earlier—the one that’s supposed to make him all tingly or whatever.

“All right, I’m gonna put this in you. I’ll start on one, and you tell me if you can take anymore, got it?” Dean instructs, not the least bit worried about Sam not being able to handle any higher. Sam is made of stronger stuff than that, and Dean’s created more of a vibration with just his cock.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam agrees, watching as Dean tears off the packaging, smug glint in his eye when it turns out that batteries were included, and are already set up in the remote.

Sam pays attention as Dean pours the tingly-lube over the egg, placing the tip at Sam’s unprepared hole and starts to push in. Sam’s a little surprised that he opens up so easily for it, however still maintains his breathing exercises as it settles all the way inside his body.

Dean moves his hand away once Sam’s hole seals around it. He takes hold of the remote and switches it to the first stage, immediately flicking his eyes over to Sam’s face to see if it shows any signs of distress.

“That good?” Dean asks.

Sam nods, spreading his legs further. “I think you can turn it up.”

Dean nods, putting it on two, eyes drawn to Sam’s quivering entrance. His cock throbs in his jeans, but he ignores it. He can get in on the fun later. Right now, he’s having a Hell of a time just making Sam feel good.

“What’s it feel like?”

“Remember that massage chair you loved?” Sam reminds Dean, continuing when Dean makes a sound like he does indeed remember it. “It’s like that, but inside.”

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out, Sam,” Dean replies, lifting the remote in way of asking if Sam wants him to dial it up a notch. Sam shifts his hips in affirmation, so Dean turns up it to three, taking Sam’s legs jerking as a sign that it must be a good feeling for him—Sam’s hard cock leaking against his belly is another clear tell.

Sam swallows hard. “So, uh, what are you gonna do?”

“Watch,” Dean states like it’s ridiculous to assume otherwise, stroking Sam’s cock leisurely, while cataloguing all the different expressions of pleasure dominating Sam’s face.

“That can’t be fun for you,” Sam mutters, gasping as the egg presses just shy of his prostate.

“Oh, this is plenty fun. Believe me,” Dean intones, turning it up to four just to see the difference, which seems to induce Sam’s back arching off the bed, his legs spreading impossibly wide and his teeth trying to make a meal out of his bottom lip.

“ _Fuck,”_ Sam curses softly under his breath, eyes squeezing shut, head thrown back, highlighting the stretch of his throat, which Dean sees as an open invitation to lay one on him, until Sam comes back up and slams into Dean’s face.

“Ow! Shit,” Dean shouts, shaking his head to clear the sudden fog and rubbing his hand over his face. “Okay, I won’t do _that_ again.”

“Sorry… I’m sorry… Accident,” Sam babbles, attempting to reach and sooth Dean with a kiss. Dean has other ideas, though, turning it up to stage six—the final stage—and sitting back on his haunches as Sam writhes on the bed, digging his feet into the sheets just to keep him stable. It makes Dean wonder if maybe he’s supposed to tie Sam down or something.

“Dean—oh, fuck—Dean, turn it down!” Sam yells, turning over to grip the headboard tight, muscles straining as he starts to feel the vibrations in his throat. Sweat is beginning to pour out of him in waves, and his cock feels like it’s about ready to explode.

Dean runs his hands comfortingly up Sam’s back, ignoring the sweat completely. “It’s okay, Sammy. Come on, if you want it to stop, now’s your chance to literally lay an egg,” Dean suggests, keeping up his calming motion, leaning over Sam to lick and suck on his neck, while Sam moans and curses, muscles shifting under taught flesh.

“You’re an asshole,” Sam says weakly, controlling his breathing to slowly push the egg out, gasping and panting as it slips out, creating a dull sound on the sheets that still manages to reach his knees.

“Wow, Sam… Guess we’re gonna have to stop hunting for a while now that you’ve got an egg to hatch,” Dean jokes, and Sam can see the grin in his voice.

“I hate you,” Sam grits, flipping back over to kick the offending egg off the bed. He watches as Dean shuts it off, casting accusatory eyes on Dean when he picks up the anal beads.

“You love me.”

“You can try those some other time. The egg was enough,” Sam says sharply, giving Dean a meaningful look. Dean clocks on, shedding his own clothing and settling between Sam’s legs. “Are we gonna have sex now?” Sam questions, definitely needing it after _that._

“Yes, but not like this,” Dean replies, lowering himself on to his back and making a gesture at his cock. Sam eyes him wearily, and then pours some of the tingly-lube onto Dean’s cock, gently lowering himself down onto it until his ass touches base.

“So, what now?” Sam interrogates, about to start lifting when Dean’s hand on his hip halts his actions. Sam prepares a growl of frustration, but stops himself when he feels something warm settle down over his own cock. He peers down at whatever that thing is and frowns at it thoughtfully.

“It’s a fleshlight, Sam. It’s like a vagina. You do the work with your ass, and I’ll do the work with my hand,” Dean supplies, working his wrist to move the toy up and down Sam’s cock.

Sam bites his lip, enjoying the dual stimulation as he begins to rock back and forth on Dean’s cock. It feels really good. It’s as if Dean’s sucking him off at the same time, only Dean’s mouth is much more sufficient than this fleshlight is in terms of ability to tighten at will.

“You got any more plans after this?”

Dean smirks, quickening his pace and growling as Sam clenches around him. “Only to plug your ass up once I fill it with my come.”


	10. Spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys try out spanking.

Maybe Sam should have seen Dean’s next big idea coming. There were a few hints of it spread out throughout the week. After all, Dean never used to pat his ass after they got done with their latest monster hunt, or when Sam opted to go and get the next round of beers at the bar, or even when Sam had already brewed and poured Dean’s morning coffee for him. At first, Sam just assumed that Dean had been trying something out, a new thing in their relationship or whatever. Sam hadn’t actually minded. To be honest, he thought it was kind of sweet, in a strange sort of way. It almost felt like encouragement, and he even found himself sticking his ass out for it when he could sense that it was coming.

Now, though, Sam’s just been told that Dean had been doing it on purpose to see how Sam would react to it, as the next thing on their kink agenda is spanking. Sam’s not been spanked since John taught him a lesson after taking the Impala for a spin before he was ready to drive, and nearly killing himself in the process. Sam understands why he did it. And he knows deep down that John felt guilty for what he had to do, and Sam can’t help feeling bad sometimes for giving John such a hard time for it. Nevertheless, he can’t recall liking having his hide tanned.

“Spanking… Really, Dean?”

Dean shrugs like it’s not a big deal, acting out the motion of it through the air with his hand. “I’ll go as easy or as hard as you want. Like I keep telling you, you won’t know if you like it until you give it a try. And I know you liked those pats on the ass I’ve been giving you, so don’t even try to deny that,” Dean reasons, winking at Sam.

Sam huffs and rolls his eyes. “That was different.”

“How?” Dean questions, folding his arms over his chest.

“Well, for starters it was light. Spanking’s not supposed to be soft, Dean,” Sam mutters, unconsciously rubbing his butt before it even goes through any form of torment for the evening.

“You liked it. Admit it,” Dean encourages somewhat sternly, striding over to Sam to place his hands on his hips. “There’s no shame in admitting that, Sammy.”

“Fine. I liked it. Happy?” Sam relents, arching his neck to give Dean more room to play with.

“ _Very_. So who’s to say that you won’t like this?” Dean husks, bringing both his hands down on Sam’s ass to emphasise his point, while sucking on the spot just below Sam’s ear.

Sam would be lying if he said that he didn’t like that. The point of this experimentation is to try out things that he’s never fantasised about, or ever thought of enjoying… He guesses that it’s only fair that he gives this one a try, too.

“All right…” Sam concedes, ducking his head to kiss the patch of skin under Dean’s jaw. Dean growls throatily at the attention, breaking apart from Sam to lead them over to the couch.

Sam watches as Dean settles himself on one of the cushions, spreading his legs apart and patting his knee in invitation.

“Do I really have to?...” Sam gestures to Dean’s stance, feeling like a little kid about to be scolded by his parent, and how is that supposed to get him through this evening?

Dean pats his knee again. “Come on, Sam, over my knee. The sooner you do, the sooner we can get started.”

“That’s embarrassing… Can’t you just do it like I’m some sort of stripper, and you’re paying me a dollar a minute?”

“No. Get over my knee. Now,” Dean once again pats his knee for effect, grinning when Sam sighs and does as he’s told, stretching his long limbs over Dean’s form, and throwing his arms over the arm of the couch.

“Pants on or pants off?” Dean offers, smoothing his hand over Sam’s clothed-ass, secretly rooting for the pants off option.

“Uh… Pants off, I guess,” Sam chooses, wriggling a little to help Dean pull his jeans just past his ass. “This is so weird.”

Dean massages Sam’s ass-cheeks for a while, smoothing over each one, kneading the flesh until Sam’s nice and pliant. That feels really nice, but Sam’s not going to tell Dean that because he won’t shut up about it for the next eternity if he does.

“You ready?” Dean questions, stopping his soothing motion.

Sam wiggles his butt teasingly. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Dean clicks his tongue. “With an attitude like that, it’s no wonder you deserve a spanking.”

“Then stop talking and give it to me already,” Sam snarks, pushing his ass out for added effect.

“Fine then,” Dean announces, bringing his hand down on Sam’s cheek. His voice softens when he asks if that’s okay, which is then followed by Sam telling him that fairies hit harder than that. “You cheeky son of a bitch,” Dean grumbles, increasing his force, satisfied when a red-print is left on Sam’s ass. “How’s that?”

“Good. If you’re a fly,” Sam retorts, biting his lip as Dean rains down on him with four quick slaps. It actually feels _really_ fucking good, but damned if he’s gonna let Dean in on that just yet. “That was about as hard as a feather cushion.”

“You cocky little shit,” Dean growls, slapping each cheek five times in tandem, really pushing his hand down to the bone with each one, inwardly concerned that he might be hurting Sam, and the little shit is just pretending to be fine so he can be that much more of an ass—but the little gasps that Sam’s making, with the added hardness pressing into his thigh tells him another story entirely.

“ _Fuck,”_ Sam curses softly, pushing his ass back for more. It’s embarrassing how hard he is in his jeans right now, and he’s not sure if he’s ever going to get over the fact that he’s _loving_ this, but he just can’t seem to stop egging Dean on for more. “Harder. You can hit harder than that.”

“You know it, baby,” Dean agrees, increasing the force of his slaps that much more, knocking the wind out of Sam in the process, who has now started rutting against his leg. “Uh-uh, none of that,” Dean enforces, stopping his actions altogether until Sam calms down.

“Why did you stop?” Sam grits out, wiggling his ass teasingly again to try and spur Dean on.

“Bad boys sit still, Sammy,” Dean says, running his hand over the red patterns on Sam’s ass, admiring his handy work. Pun completely intended.

“I hate you so much…” Sam trails off, biting the arm of the couch. “Fine,” he muffles into the material, stopping his movements definitively, and waiting patiently for Dean to start up again.

“You know I’m gonna use this as blackmail material, right?” Dean muses, slapping each cheek with reverence.

“I don’t fucking care right now.”


	11. Daddy-Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn't know what a Daddy!Kink really is.

Sam’s pleased with how things have been going so far. They’ve added ten different things to their sex life, and it’s made things all the more interesting for them. Granted, most of those things have been kicked to the metaphorical curb, however the ones that have stayed with them are a great addition. For example, they no longer have to wait until they get all the way back to the bunker to deal with their arousals. Now, if the mood hits, they find the nearest stop that they can find and take care of their needs then and there. Sam’s not sure how many times he’s been on his knees in a back-alley, or bent over a sink in a gas-station bathroom, being fucked to within an inch of his life since they added public sex to their do’s list—he sure doesn’t regret it, though.

Also, when Dean’s in the mood for having his balls sucked, there’s a lot that Sam can get away with before he eventually ends up with Dean’s low-hanging fruit in his mouth. Instead of junk food, Dean will agree to eat _rabbit food that tastes like crap, that’s why it looks like this, Sammy—people aren’t supposed to enjoy it, but they expect us to pay out of our asses just to afford this shit,_ which is a dual purpose, because sometimes Sam worries about all the trans fats that Dean accepts into his body without even thinking about the consequences later—also, Sam actually _likes_ the taste of it. More to the point, Dean waits until the appropriate time to start drinking alcohol without stating that it’s four in the afternoon somewhere. Best of all, though, is that Dean will willing come with Sam to watch a movie that he deems boring, and not say a single bad comment about it.

Sam has bites in places that no one can see. He’s not sure why he likes it so much, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. Dean’s got plenty on his body as well, and he wears them with pride. When some nosey guy in an office asked Dean if he had a _rough_ date last night, Dean grinned broadly, showed off the rest of the marks along his collar bone and stated proudly that he had no regrets about the events of the evening, with a wink thrown over to Sam at the end of it. It had instantly made Sam hard because the image of him lifting himself vigorously up and down Dean’s cock while sinking his teeth _deep_ into Dean’s skin flooded his mind, and they had to excuse themselves to the men’s room.

And then there’s the spanking… Dean’s somehow managed to find a way to turn the use of it on its head, and now executes it as a reward for good behaviour, which translates to Sam actually allowing him to get his point across sometimes—even when they both know that he’s going to be wrong in the end anyway—just to give Dean that chance to feel like he’s not just brawn and no brains. If Sam does cut Dean off and get mad at him for suggesting such a severely stupid idea, Dean doesn’t even pat Sam on the ass. Also something that has been added to their relationship. So what if sets people back a billion years or so? Sam likes it. He likes it _a lot,_ and he’s not willing to give it up for anything.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dean says as he walks into the study, baseball glove sealed over his hand and a ball clutched tightly in its grasp.

Sam makes a face at Dean’s choice of wardrobe, and then dismisses it with a shrug. Who is he to judge how Dean wants to dress when they have nothing to do today?

“What’s with the glove?”

Dean grins, ambling over to where Sam is sat around a desk full of open-books. He sets to ball down on the flattest part that he can find, slipping off the glove to let his hand breathe for a few moments. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he places one hand on Sam’s shoulder, leaning over him to observe the contents of the book held between Sam’s long fingers.

“I was wondering if you wanted to play catch?” Dean phrases it like a question, ruffling Sam’s long hair.

That’s when Sam figures that this must be some sort of weird kink that he didn’t quite get the memo on.

“Dean… What is this?”

Dean deepens his voice as he turns Sam in his chair, looking at him sternly. “That’s Daddy to you, boy. I didn’t spend all that time teaching you how to say it just so you could call me by my real name.”

Sam blinks owlishly, closing the book—now in his lap—dramatically slow. “Okay, timeout from whatever this is. Dean, what are you doing?

“I’m pretending to be your Daddy—you know, daddy-kink or whatever,” Dean explains, clearly about to go back to telling Sam off for being disobedient, when Sam puts his hand flat over Dean’s mouth.

“This is _not_ what a daddy-kink is, moron,” Sam informs Dean, taking back his hand and frowning when he notices a wet-spot glistening on his skin.

Dean likes his lips and hums. “Then what is it?”

“I don’t know. But what the Hell did you think was sexual about playing catch?” Sam counters instead, indignant.

“Beats the fuck out of me. I just thought of this on the spot,” Dean reasons, sliding onto the desk. “I remember being with this girl one time that said she had issues with her Dad, and asked me to call her my good little girl.”

“And you got _play catch_ from _that?”_ Sam replies, perplexed. “She pretty much gave you the answer, and you still couldn’t figure it out.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Put you in a leotard and tell you you’re Daddy’s star gymnast?” Dean mutters, rolling his eyes.

Sam shakes his head _slowly,_ and then starts to hypothesize what it probably is. Halfway through, Dean announces that he needs to use the bathroom real quick, and comes back with a loaded page on his phone with descriptions of what exactly the daddy-kink is.  Sam snatches Dean’s phone out of his hand and peruses what’s in front of him. The description makes him want to gag, and he tries to imagine calling out Daddy during sex. It brings up thoughts of John pressing him down into the mattress, which immediately provokes him to think about vomiting all over the place. It’s at that point that he presents Dean’s phone back to him with a thundering shudder.

“So?...” Dean trails off, arching his eyebrow at the insert from an anonymous blogger.

“No, dude. Not now. Not ever,” Sam states with finality, turning back around to continue his reading.

“Why not?” Dean questions—and Sam is happy to note that it’s just general curiosity, and not one of Dean’s patented _but I really wanna try it_ seminars.

Sam ponders how to get his point across to Dean in the most efficient way that he knows how. He needs to do it in a way that will make Dean just as repulsed as he feels by it.

“Picture me saying Daddy to you during sex, and then tell me who pops into your head when I say it,” Sam offers, re-locating the last sentence that he read, giving Dean all the time in the world to think about that. He hopes that it doesn’t take him too long, because sometimes Dean can just get completely stuck, and Sam doesn’t really want to spend all day fixing him.

“Oh… Oh, dude, no! That’s just sick. I mean, I get that we’re brothers’ who fuck, but adding Dad to the equation? Screw that,” Dean declares, scrubbing his face with his hand to try and rid himself of that image.

“I’m glad you understand,” Sam mutters lethargically, turning over to the next page. He’s aware that Dean is just standing there doing nothing, but it’s not preventing his reading, so he can do whatever the Hell he wants.

“If it’s cool with you, Sammy, I’m gonna suck you off while you read to get the image of Dad screwing you through the floor out of my head,” Dean intones, dragging Sam’s chair back a few spaces so he can get on his knees under the desk. He pulls Sam out of his jeans in record time and immediately goes to work sucking Sam down his throat.

Sam’s hips jolt at the sensation. As time goes by, it becomes increasingly more difficult to focus on the words in front of him. Although, Sam’s had practise at this. So, he leans back with the book still in his hands and gets lost in mythology as Dean tries to suck Sam’s brain out through his cock.

Today’s a good day.


	12. Cum Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interesting experimentation with cum. :x

Sam hasn’t got a single idea as to what Dean might be up to now. He’s not sure how he feels about this because it usually means that he’s going to be on the receiving end of something… well… stupid. How is he supposed to concentrate on things when all he can think about are the various manifested scenes in his head involving Dean, himself and a possibility that he could be scarred for life? He’s tried to ignore Dean’s sudden disinterest in anything sexual. Sam’s not one to push someone in to something that they’re not feeling. In this case, it’s hard to believe that it’s at all true, as Dean has one of those sex drives that you either love or start to resent after a while. In the beginning, it did take a while for Sam to get used to it—and that had only been when they had the time. Sam does often find himself wondering just how much sex they would have been having if they didn’t have any self-proclaimed responsibilities to the world.

The fact of the matter is that they haven’t had _any_ sex for going on three weeks now. Yes, they have had a shit ton of stuff to deal with. Sam’s not refuting that—he’s more than aware of just how much their jobs suck. Nevertheless, Sam can sense—because he knows Dean better than the back of his own hand; better than Dean knows himself; better than he knows how to breathe—that he’s not good at hiding when he’s turned on. Not at all. Not even the slightest bit. So when Sam spots Dean ducking into a storage room and hears items cracking and breaking, with Dean growling out his frustrations as he hurls anything he can grab across the room, Sam gets the idea that there has to be some sort of purpose for this sudden chastity.  

When that notion crawled its way into Sam’s head, he felt as though it had been his right to investigate and run some experiments, which is why he got out the jockstrap that he wore for Dean’s birthday and paraded around the bunker in it. Needless to say, Dean looked like he had been tortured for centuries when he had to turn Sam down, walk very slowly away and then make up an excuse as to why the study appeared as though it got caught in the Tazmanian Devil’s uncoordinated continuous rotation across country.

_Are you doing okay, Dean?_

_I’m fine, Sammy._

_No you’re not._

_I’m fine. See you later._

_Where are you going?_

_Out._

_Where’s out?_

_Bar._

_Why?_

_Just leave me the fuck alone, okay?!_

Dean had come back several hours later and offered his own way of apologising. Sam had pretended to be angry, but he could actually understand why Dean snapped at him like that. It hadn’t exactly been fair for Sam to walk around in a jockstrap—something that they both discovered on Dean’s birthday that his fantasies weren’t just fantasies, and that he actually very much enjoyed Sam in the real thing, in full Technicolor along with everything else.

At the end of week two, Sam had asked just what the Hell was up with Dean. The only thing he got back had been that there’s nothing up with him at all, and then Dean went back to ignoring Sam’s existence. Sam’s not sure he’s even going to like where this is going, however it better be something life-affirming after having to put up with all of this shit.

Sam has a sex drive, too, for fuck sake. And it’s simmering. Simmering deep in his core, and his body is crying out for another body. He doesn’t care how Dean wants to take him. He just wants Dean. Sam’s so testy at the moment. A harmless fly flew past his face, and he shot at it. Fucking shot at the thing just for passing him by. Sam felt guilty for it—not that it died or anything, but there’s always the chance that Sam’s bullet could have put _someone_ in a grave.

The point is… Sam is _really_ horny, and Dean better have some answers soon to his abstinence.

“Morning, Sammy,” Dean mumbles, groggily reaching for the handle on the fridge and missing. His head slams into the door and he curses up a multi-shaded storm, throwing the fridge down on the ground and going at it with a chair—even going so far as to ram a kitchen knife through the back of it. It looks like some really odd murder mystery parody, but Sam sort of finds himself developing anger for the fridge, also.

“Fucking piece of shit! All I wanted was to grab a slice of ham,” Dean rages jumping up and down on the fridge, snarling angrily. He looks like some sort of wild beast, stomping his feet heavily until he makes a break through the reinforced material.

Sam’s eyes widen when blood starts shooting out of Dean’s calf, having wedged through the gears. Sam absorbs the _son of a mothing fucking whore_ that comes out of Dean’s mouth, acting quickly to disengage Dean’s leg from the fridge the safest way possible in this situation, secretly wondering if he needs to get some sort of pill so tame Dean’s mood at the moment.

“I can walk by myself, Sam,” Dean snaps at him, shrugging off Sam’s hold and hanging on to the edge of the counter, gritting his teeth at the pulsing ache in his leg. He hobbles over to the draw with the medical kit, snatching the box from underneath a tea towel. He sets it beside himself, popping the latches and getting all the things that he’s going to need to make this a clean mend.

“Dean, for God sake… Let me help,” Sam insists, taking a step towards him. He backs up when Dean glares bloody murder at him, setting up a suture to begin pulling his skin back into the right place. Sam goes for the paper towels, but Dean’s glare stops him in his tracks again. “What, your arms have to be hanging off your shoulders for me to be able to patch you up?”

“Stow it, Sam. I’ve got this,” Dean retorts, keeping his head lowered as he seals the first two lacerations back together.

“Dean, whatever it is that you’re planning cannot be worth all of this. I know that you haven’t even jerked off for three weeks straight, so just put an end to whatever this plot is that’s brewing in your head,” Sam suggests forcefully, heaving the fridge back up into a standing position, making a mental note in his head to order one online to a stand-in location. The contents of the fridge are also ruined beyond salvation, so he’s going to have to make a trip to the store, as well.

There’s silence between them for several minutes as they both go about their tasks. Sam casts a few concerned glances in Dean’s direction every now and then, making sure that he’s not passed out on the floor from the blood loss, and happy to find that Dean is slowly but surely patching himself up with ease, wrapping gauze around the wounded area to allow the blood to dry up. He’s also tied something around it to hinder the blood flow and keep himself steady on two feet. For a guy that just put his leg through the back of a fridge, he looks pretty damn good.

“You wanna tell me what this is all about now?” Sam offers, keeping his distance to show that he’s not prying, merely concerned. 

Dean falters, leaning back against the counter and muttering obscenities under his breath. “I was building up a huge load of come so that we can do cum-play. Stuff like shooting a hefty amount in your ass so it drips out, and then sucking it out and spitting it into your mouth, rubbing it all over your skin—that sort of thing. I just didn’t think that it would be _this_ hard to go without any form of sex for this long,” he explains vividly, looking sullen and defeated in this moment.

“You’re an idiot,” Sam states, shaking his head fondly. “Come on, let’s go upstairs and see if your three-week-ban-on-sex-capade was worth it.”

Dean grins minutely, still looking defeated as he follows Sam up the stairs. They meet in the bedroom, with Dean slacking a little behind. Sam undresses himself quickly, refusing to give Dean a chance to do anything as he dives to his knees and strips Dean of his joggers before going to town on his cock.

“Have you missed me, Sammy?” Dean questions coyly, gripping onto Sam’s hair as he’s sucked in to the root. After three weeks this feels like a thousand orgasms.

“No time for talk,” Sam growls when Dean’s nice and hard—which really didn’t take that long at all, and who could blame him—throwing Dean down onto the bed and climbing over him, rubbing the head of Dean’s cock over his hole, using the excess amount of pre-come to slick his entrance and sink down on Dean’s cock.

“God yes,” Dean growls throatily, groaning when Sam clenches _hard_ around him.

“Just lay back and enjoy the ride, Dean,” Sam says with a wink, working all of his tricks to get Dean off as soon as possible.

Which, again, doesn’t take long at all, which can’t be helped when Dean’s gone three weeks without even handling his cock, other than to pee.

Sam’s eyes roll back into his head when Dean’s orgasm hits. And by God does it hit. Sam feels like Dean’s not going to ever stop releasing strong streams of come into his cavity, to the point where it does indeed seep out of his ass and make a mess of Dean’s crotch—there’s enough to paint a fucking art project.

Underneath him, Dean has this _extremely_ blissed out expression on his face, fingers clenching and unclenching around Sam’s sides. Sam knows that he’s going to have a bunch of bruises there and he’s not even sure that he cares right now.

After carefully moving off Dean’s cock and along his body, Dean sucks as much come out of Sam’s ass as he can in one mouthful and passes it to Sam through a heated kiss. Dean thumbs Sam’s lip when they break apart, gathering up excess and sliding it along Sam’s top lip.

And that’s where the mood is totally ruined because Dean starts laughing like there’s a room filled with nitrous oxide.

When Dean is done—now coughing due to the fact that he was laughing so hard, which is a fitting punishment if you ask Sam—they agree that it’s not so bad, but face-painting is not allowed.


	13. Medical Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys tryout Medical kink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never written medical kink before. Don't know much about it. Let me know if this is the sort of thing it usually is. XD

Whoever said that Dean isn’t good with his hands is a pathological liar. If they could see him now, assembling a machine to keep patients spread out and ready, they would eat their own hat. It’s not a secret that Dean enjoys working on things with his hands. Baby is a perfect example of that, and she’s in pristine condition. She gets preferential treatment when it comes to things without a heart, and she’s tuned daily. Dean always keeps his lovers well oiled—even the one that isn’t made of scrap metal.  

Speaking of that particular lover, Dean’s feeling very anticipant for his latest experiment. This time, Dean actually gave Sam fair warning as to what would be going down, in turn offering Sam the opportunity to play the scene out in his head first before deciding on whether or not he’ll have any interest in it. Turns out, Sam is curious about playing a patient, and Dean’s more than happy to be his unlicensed Doctor with a thing for long-haired beauties with a bodacious ass.

Preparations have been going on for a little over an hour now. Dean has to make sure that everything goes perfect. He spent the days leading up to the finale watching all of the Medical Kink porn that he could find on the internet, with some episodes of Dr. Sexy thrown in for good measure. So Dean has a guilty pleasure? If you’ve got some sort of problem with that, tell him and see just where it lands your sorry ass.

Dean’s brushed up on his knowledge of how to fulfil all the procedures to their maximum success. He’s not going to pretend for one second that he understood half of the words that they said in the video. Not all Doctors are geniuses, though, so he figures that he’s still good to go.

He’s not sure what he’s looking forward to the most. Sam’s been very secretive about his aspirations for their medical experimentation, which doesn’t help Dean in the slightest. The only thing that keeps him going through these times is the knowledge that Sam _will_ tell him when he doesn’t like something. It’s the only way to guarantee a guilt-free Dean at the end of the day. Dean doesn’t want to feel guilty for going through something with Sam that he didn’t actually want, when Sam can just tell him during that he’s not into it.

Sam admitted the other day that he’s not completely sold on the idea of Dean successfully acting out the part of a Doctor, however he’s interested to see the results. All Dean heard had been Sam saying that he’s going to fail from the start, which makes Dean all the more determined to prove Sam wrong—hence the reason why he spent all of that time researching.

Sometimes he thinks to himself that he could probably be a lot more help in the logical side of cases if he put as much focus into discovering shit for them as he does for their sex life. Then he remembers that what he’s researching leads to something fun, whereas case work just makes him bored and sleepy. That’s not to say that he doesn’t care about the people that he’s trying to protect—he just prefers to preserve his energy for the moments that count, is all. Yeah, that’s it. That makes sense. Dean can deal with that.

“How’s it going, Doc?” Sam teases, dropping in unannounced. He’s got some disgusting looking smoothie in his right hand that Dean’s really hoping isn’t going to come back to bite them both in the ass if anything _gross_ happens during their experimentation. He sure as hell hopes not, as he put a lot in to this—some smoothie from Hell is not going to ruin all of his hard work.

“Why are you drinking the Incredible Hulk? What did he ever do to you?” Dean says to the wrench he’s currently cranking methodically.

“He said Bruce Banner was a loser. That’s just mean, so I ground him down into mush—doesn’t taste half as good as the yogurt version, but it’ll do—gotta get my greens somehow, right?” Sam jests, pulling up a chair to watch Dean work, eyeing the sliver of skin just below the back of Dean’s shirt.

“Give the guy a break. He’s trapped inside a nerds head all day,” Dean mutters, standing up to observe the finished model. He moves to set it up on the _hospital bed_ that they _acquired_ through _innocent_ means during a _case_ that involved a _rogue_ nurse _poisoning_ her patients, and they _had to_ take the _bed_ in order to _examine_ it for _evidence_.

Sam takes the other side, wondering—not for the first time—how Dean really could have gotten into something like inventing if they didn’t live the lives that they live. They both work it onto the bed, Dean grinning like a fool as the last part connects without fail.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Dean muses aloud, pretending to thumb a tear from his eye, gushing about creator’s pride.

Sam rolls his eyes at the spectacle. Trust Dean to try his hand at a Latino Soap Opera star finding a speckle of dirt on the plate she just washed.

“Yes, Dean. This is the first result in google under beauty,” Sam says sardonically, checking out the spurs to determine if he’s going to fit comfortably in them.

“Your mockery towards my invention wounds me, Sammy,” Dean elucidates, throwing his arm over his eyes and reaching for the ceiling in woe, winking at Sam at the end. “Could you tell I was faking that?”

“No more Soap Operas for you,” Sam states plainly, glaring when Dean puts on a mock-offended face, mouth agape and eyes wide. “I’m serious.”

Dean hangs his head and slouches his shoulders. “Yeah. Okay.”

They spend the next few minutes incorporating Sam into the machine, making sure that nothing is too tight around his ankles, and that he has slight freedom of movement. Dean grabs an extra pillow to put under Sam’s head to ensure better comfort during the act, as they both don’t know how long they are going to be trying this out.

“Is that comfortable enough?” Dean asks, placing his hands on the backs of Sam’s thighs to test how far they can go before Sam makes a straining face.

“Yeah. It’s fine,” Sam assures Dean, nodding to let him know that this will do. Dean carefully unlatches everything and pulls Sam up into a sitting position, standing between his legs and staring into his eyes. There’s a heated exchange passing through the small distance that separates them, a mutual agreement that they’re starting to get turned on.

“Think we can get a quickie in before we get this show on the road?” Dean husks, grazing his lips over Sam’s own, getting them nice and wet as he conveys his arousal to him.

Sam shakes his head to clear the haze. “Let’s just go and get changed, and then we can start,” he reasons, inwardly hating himself for saying no—well, his cock is screaming at him and calling him every name under the sun, so he can barely hear his inside voice.

A flash of disappointment filters through Dean’s eyes for a brief moment before he pats Sam’s knees and agrees that that’s probably for the best. Not that it would take hours for the both of them to recover and be ready for the next round or anything—it just makes sense that a quickie before possible sex just doesn’t make any sense. Then again that word _possible_ does fill Dean with pre-emptive guilt that he didn’t _get any_ beforehand, just in case this thing goes completely south. 

They both retreat to the bedroom, getting into their _costumes_ for the events. Dean grins as he positions the stethoscope around his head, winking meaningfully at Sam as he pretends to make a phone call through the resonator, provoking a laugh from Sam at the memory of them acting out scolding _their_ staff, using the stethoscopes as though they were real phones to paint a clearer picture, laughing with each other afterwards—just trying to pretend that their Dad wasn’t in one of the operating rooms because he over did it on a case.

Once they’re both in character, they share a brief kiss and an exchange of words. It mostly consists of Dean asking Sam if he’s okay with this, and that they can call the whole thing off right now if he’s not prepared to go through with it, to which Sam simply straightened the tie on Dean’s collar—which really didn’t need to be straightened; the man knows how to put on a tie for Christ sake—and relayed to Dean that he’s looking forward to it.

“Afternoon, Mr. Winchester, I’m Dr. Jerico. I understand that this is your first rectal examination, and I’m going to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible. Now, I know that this is an invasive procedure, but I promise you that it’ll be over before you know it, and I might even throw in a lollipop for you if you behave,” Dean pauses, winking at Sam, who’s kind of having a hard time believing that _Dean_ is talking to him right now. “I’ll have to check your temperature first—that’s the easier part. If it makes you feel any better, we can talk about your day while we go through it. Before we begin, do you have any questions for me?”

“What’s the procedure called where they shove a camera up someone’s ass?” Sam questions innocently, like he’s just curious about it, when really he’s just being a little shit because there’s no way that Dean took the time to go over answers to questions that he could possibly be asked by troublesome patients.

Dean blinks, attempting to turn the cogs in his brain to fashion a guess for whatever the hell that could be called… _camera-invasion-of-the-rectum; inside-your-ass-in-full-technicolour; butt-vision…_ None of that seems like it could be anything remotely close to the actual thing, so Dean frowns instead and stomps his foot like a child.

“Dammit, Sammy! I’m trying to stay in character here. Don’t be an ass,” Dean grumps, prepared to exit and re-enter to start all over again, when Sam latches onto his shoulder, swallowing down his mirth as he convinces Dean to turn back around and just go from where they were, previous question deemed as never having happened in the first place.

“It’s called a colonoscopy, by the way,” Sam mutters, feeling like he needed to get that out there. Dean would most likely obsess over it in his mind anyway—too prideful to just ask Sam what it is.

Dean gives Sam a look that clearly means that that’s great, but can we get back to the real reason they’re here, so Sam thinks of questions to ask, wondering if he would actually have any in this situation… He guesses since this is supposedly his first time getting his prostate checked that he would be nervous, maybe? Then again, he could just come right out say that he’s had things up his ass before…

“No questions here, Doc. It shouldn’t be a problem, anyway. I’m used to it.”

“Used to what?”

Sam grins cheekily. “Invasion of the rectum, in this case. It’s cool. I’m fine with it,” he says easily, making a gesture to silently ask if the Doctor needs him to move into a certain position.

“Ah, I see. Well, then that just made my job a whole lot easier. You wouldn’t believe the amount of guys that fuss over having something up their ass, even if it could literally be the thing that saves their lives,” Dean reveals, patting the bed and telling Sam to get on all fours. “Bet that’s not the first time you’ve heard those words?”

Sam laughs, turning over onto his front and balancing on all his limbs. “It’s not. And it won’t be the last, either,” he aims towards the pillows, fighting the urge to arch his back when Dean slides the gown further along his back for more room. Sam hears the sound of something beeping and assumes that it must be the thermometer.

“I’m just going to apply a small amount of lubricant to your, uh, crack, and then I’ll insert the thermometer. It will be slightly cold, just so you know,” Dean mutters, brushing a smattering of lube over Sam’s hole with the tips of his fingers, resisting the urge to start opening Sam up.

“I’m sure it’ll soon warm up,” Sam replies, shifting his legs when Dean’s index slips in the slightest amount.

“You would know, Mr. Winchester,” Dean says, pushing the thermometer just inside enough to persuade the heat to culminate inside and offer the reading that Dean needs. It comes back at regular temperature, and Dean wipes it off with a wet-wipe from the box propped up on a stool. He feels really weird wearing these plastic gloves, but it’s part of the act so he’s just going to have to deal with it for now.

“Do I have a fever?”

Dean laughs aloud. “No, Mr. Winchester. You’re perfectly fine. The reason we check your temperature before administering the examination is because it’s not safe to carry out the procedure when the patient is unwell, or suffering some sort of ailment,” he assures, directing Sam to turn over onto his front now.

“Ah, I see. You can call me Sam, by the way,” Sam permits, lifting his legs to help Dean get them setup in the stirrups.

“Easy, Tiger, you’ve barely known me five minutes,” Dean flirts, pulling up a stool between Sam’s legs and handling his cock and balls, pretending to check for lumps, when he really wouldn’t have the first idea how to detect that sort of thing. Nevertheless, it’s what he saw in most of the videos that he watched.

“Give me another five and you’ll be down on one knee,” Sam flirts back, going from half-hard to fully erect in the space of a few breaths. He’s not sure what it is. Most likely Dean’s touch. Sure, Dean looks sexy as sin in his Doctor get-up. Then again… Dean would look good in a trash bag, so that’s not really a surprise to Sam.

“Yeah. Well, cough for me, Sam,” Dean instructs, frowning when Sam takes more than two seconds to do it. Again, Dean doesn’t know what he’s looking for by asking Sam to cough—still, Dean’s going to do this and do it right. There is no other way. He wants to set the mood, and living his character is the only way that that’s going to happen here.

Dean’s having a hard time of things right now. Sam is spread out before him, and his beautiful cock is twitching wildly—practically begging to be sucked. Normally, Dean would have taken Sam down his throat by now. He’s not sure why he enjoys sucking Sam’s cock so much. He would never suck another dudes cock. Just Sam’s. Dean assumes that it’s the faces that Sam makes, and the breathy little moans that he tries to conceal the whole time Dean is bobbing away on his lap. When this thing between them started, Dean never imagined that he would initiate shoving Sam against a wall, dropping to his knees and inhaling Sam’s cock until he gets a throat full of come. There’s just something about that blissed out expression on Sam’s face afterwards… Not to mention how well he reciprocates afterwards, and then channels that into sex when he’s riding Dean like the stallion that he is, manipulating Dean’s cock in ways that cause him to forget about the whole entire world.

Putting that to the side for now, Dean informs Sam that he’s going to start the prostate exam now to look for any discrepancies. All he has to do is not bear down on it because then he would have lost Sam’s focus completely, and he won’t be able to get a clear reading on whether or not this is one for the books.

Dean snaps on another pair of gloves and gently massages the rim before pushing in. Sam claps sardonically when Dean locates his prostate, stating that most of the guys that he’s been with think of it as Area 51—impossible to find and some sort of secret. Dean can’t help but laugh at that, pressing against the gland softly as he relays to Sam that this is what he does for a living—he has to be good at it otherwise he’ll have dudes complaining about him being up their butts for too long.

“If they can’t take what you’re packing, they should see another Doctor,” Sam jests, eyeing Dean’s tented trousers.

Dean nods his head like he’s used to hearing that in this pretend job that he’s acting like he has the first clue about, rubbing over Sam’s prostate a few more times for good measure. He extracts his fingers, notifying Sam that he should be happy to have a healthy prostate.

“I’m sort of wishing that there had been something wrong, if that means that you’d have to play with it for a little longer,” Sam replies cheekily, licking his lips as Dean’s cock twitches behind his slacks. He knows that he’s increasing the odds that Dean’s going to snap out of character and have his wicked way with him, but he’s not sure that he cares.

Dean stomps down the need to whip his cock out and shove inside Sam instantly. He wills himself back in to character with an even amount of breaths, informing Sam that’s he’s got to grab a stretcher to hold Sam open so that he can see inside. Sam questions why Dean needs to do that, which he could only answer with the fact that this is a full check-up, and that this part is essential.

Sam shrugs his shoulders, wincing a little as the circular tube coaxes his entrance to widen, giving Dean the access to flash his torch inside and gaze _inside_ Sam’s body. He’s not going to lie, it is a little uncomfortable being _this_ exposed, and he’s really not sure anymore that he wants to make this a part of their sex life. It just feels like he’s getting an exam. Sure, they’re both rock hard and ready to go, but that’s just because Dean is touching him.

And then Dean gets a little too invasive with the torch. He holds it inside Sam’s body, clinging onto it just outside the ring keeping Sam open nice and good, which is the exact moment that it fails at its purpose, popping out of Sam’s ass in the next instance and effectively sealing the torch inside Sam’s ass, having been released in shock by Dean.

“Holy shit!” Dean panics, coating his fingers in lube to reach into Sam’s ass and grab hold of the torch, while Sam rants about being made into a rear-ended jacko-lantern, demanding that Dean get it out of his ass right-the-fuck-now. “Hold your horses, Sammy. Christ—unless you want me to get my whole hand in there, this is how it’s going to have to be right now.”

“Are you kidding me? Why did you let go?” Sam snaps, wishing he could plant his foot in Dean’s stupid face right now. “Just get it out, moron. Why did you even reach in in the first place? You can’t see that far,” Sam rages, squirming at the weird sensation of the rubber on his skin.

Dean groans. “Screw these,” he grumbles, ripping the gloves off to give him a better grip. He feels around a little, and eventually gets hold of the torch, tuning out Sam’s seemingly eternal rant about how he feels like he’s the main attraction of a Chinese new year festival.

When the torch pops out, Sam demands to be released from the stirrups. Dean does so quickly, apologizing to Sam while he does it. Sam seems to calm down pretty quickly, stating that he had just been worried that they would have to go to a real Doctor to sort that out, and how embarrassing would that have been for him?

“No more Dr. Jerico?” Dean questions awry, scratching the stubble on his chin.

“Only when you’re posing as one for a case,” Sam states, palming Dean’s cock through his trousers with meaning. At Dean’s curious look, Sam grins. “I had a torch in my ass. Not a bat. I’m still good to go.”

Dean smirks, turning Sam towards the bed and shoving him over it, slipping three fingers into Sam’s warm heat. “Fine by me, Sammy.”


	14. Sex Tape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys make a sex tape.

Dean and Sam breathe through their afterglow, still attached at the waist—not quite yet ready to detach themselves. There’s a raging heat surrounding them, brought on by the strenuous activity that they just engaged in with each other, practically exempting any form of energy that they had left in their bodies. At first, they weren’t planning to go at it so strong, but the mood took them there, and they can’t say that they regret it. Especially not Dean, who continues to punch out breaths with each clamp of Sam’s hole around his implanted cock.

When they feel like they can be bothered to move, they reach weakly for the camera stand, cursing as they both end up in a heap on the floor. As they gather their bearings, Sam secures the camera in his grasp and turns it off, laughing because there’s not a chance that it didn’t pick up on their embarrassing fall to the ground.

“People shouldn’t have to move after sex,” Dean complains, pulling himself back up on to the bed, grinning like a fool.

Sam can easily tell that Dean’s overly excited about watching their sex tape. Sam has his reservations about it. There must be some reason that porn stars are paid the amount that they are, other than the fact that they allow the world to watch them going at it like rabbits—that doesn’t mean that there can’t be some form of art form to it that enables them to add that glamourous touch to the act that gets locals rocks off. If Sam’s being honest with himself, he’s worried that they aren’t going to look as great as they feel on film, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell Dean that he might not like what he sees.

“Come on, Sammy. Get it set up on the laptop while I go make some popcorn,” Dean says excitedly, shucking on a pair of sweats before he walks over to the door. “This is gonna be so hot, Sam. I can feel it.”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam pretends to agree, worrying his bottom lip as he looks down at the camera in his hand. Maybe he could watch it over to see how it looks first—if it’s terrible, he could just make out that something went wrong with it and he doesn’t know how to get it back… No, that’s not fair to Dean. This is something for him, sort of. He’s been saying for years that he wanted to make a sex tape. It had mostly been aimed towards when they’re older, so they can look back on the good old days, but the sentiment had been there. Sam’s sure of that, and he can’t deprive Dean of seeing this, even when he is almost certain that nothing looks that great on camera.

Sam shakes his head. He shouldn’t just assume that it’s going to look terrible. They’re both good looking guys… Yeah. There’s a good chance that it won’t be half bad. Sam’s just sceptical because he’s never seen what they look like together. That must be it. He’s insecure and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Insecurities aside, Sam grabs his laptop from the side and fires it up. It’s not going to take long for him to upload the footage, so he might have a little time on his hands while Dean is making the popcorn—provided Dean doesn’t overdo it and set the heat up too high to ensure a faster _pop_. Just because Dean can deal with burnt popcorn, does not mean that Sam wants to.

He spends a few minutes configuring everything, resisting the urge to take a sneak peek. It’s understandable that he would want to. Dean’s a very prideful person… Sam wouldn’t want this to impede him in anyway, and make him feel like he sucks in the sack, or looks shit trying… There’s a possibility there that Dean might get stuck in his head during the next time, and the whole thing will just be a mess. Sam’s sure that he can come up with some sort of way to get Dean out of a funk—if that’s what happens—hopefully, though, he won’t have to.

Dean comes strolling in with a steaming bowl of popcorn right on time. Sam uses his height to see the contents of the bowl and frowns.

“You burned them, didn’t you?”

Dean grins coyly. “Couldn’t wait. You know I’m not a patient man, Sammy,” he reminds Sam, taking a seat on the bed, knees bouncing in excitement.

“I hate burned popcorn,” Sam states, turning his nose up at it.

Dean shrugs, stuffing a handful into his mouth. “More for me then. Press play, already.”

Sam swallows the lump in his throat, teasing the spacebar with gentle strokes. “You’re not worried at all?”

“Worried about how awesome this is gonna be? No,” Dean relays, grinning like the handsome fool that he is.

For the next few seconds, Sam struggles with the decision to give Dean forewarning or to just let it be what it is. After careful consideration, Sam opts for the latter, shuffling over to the headboard. He gives Dean a meaningful look as he goes, provoking Dean to follow him over, keeping a bit of space between them so that he has elbow room to shove his hand into the bowl of popcorn.

“Are you as excited as I am?” Dean questions, nudging Sam’s side.

“Sure, Dean,” Sam replies, wondering why he never bothered to throw on a pair of pants. It’s not like he can delay this any longer, though, so he just goes ahead and presses play.

Sam’s slightly shocked by how good the picture is when it starts. He focuses on his tongue action, pleased to see that he’s learned a lot from Dean since this thing began. It doesn’t look that bad… It’s actually kind of hot. Now he can see just how grabby Dean is—he has evidence of it. There’s a lot of tension in his body, but he supposes that that’s because he’s being filmed, whereas Dean looks like he couldn’t be more comfortable, shoving Sam down on the bed on his back, settling between his legs.

Sam watches as the kiss breaks, and finds himself getting a little turned on by the _look_ in Dean’s eyes as he starts biting and licking his way down Sam’s body, paying equal attention to each strip of skin, hands never wavering from their tour around Sam’s form, gripping and tweaking random areas as he gets closer and closer to Sam’s cock.

Sam already knows that Dean’s not going to suck him off. They didn’t want it to run on for too long—okay, Sam didn’t want it to run on for too long, which is why Dean spends a little time sucking the skin just under Sam’s balls, as well as his navel, letting Sam know what he’s missing out on.

So far, so good…

Every now and then, Sam looks over at Dean to see how he feels about what’s happening on the screen in front of him. He notices immediately that Dean’s eyes are very focused on Sam’s face; body; hair and ass—he’s pretty much not paying attention to himself at all, which Sam finds odd. Usually, Dean’s vain… He’s talked about how when he got sent to the future, he had been tempted to see if he could score with himself.

“So, what do you think so far, Dean?” Sam questions, feeling more naked than he is with the attention to detail in Dean’s eyes as he tracks the contents of the screen.

“You look smoking hot, Sam,” Dean comments, shovelling more popcorn into his mouth.

“What about you?”

“I see me in the mirror every day. That handsome man is reserved for shaving, brushing my teeth, and gelling my hair,” Dean states like it’s not really a big deal, setting the popcorn aside to slide his hand over Sam’s chest. “God, you’re a sexy beast.”

Sam inwardly berates his body for the flush tinting his skin. For some reason, Dean has this way of saying something that sounds dirty from the onset, but it’s actually really sweet and somewhat romantic. Or maybe it isn’t, and Sam just hears what he wants to hear. Regardless, it has the desired effect of making Sam feel all warm inside and out.

“You see me like this all the time,” Sam reminds Dean, ignoring the increase of his heartrate.

Dean’s voice could seriously be compared to having ingested gravel. “Not like this. Not all of you. Not with everything on display… You’re perfect,” he replies heatedly, fingers twitching against Sam’s chest plate.

In that moment, Sam seriously considers throwing the laptop to the ground and not caring about having to buy a new one. And then something happens.

“Wait a minute…” Dean trails off, turning up the volume to hear clearer. “Do I really…”

“What?”

Dean frowns thoughtfully, and then makes a face like someone peed in his cereal. “Just listen…”

Sam arches an eyebrow, watching the cursor move back a few shots to get to the part that Dean is apparently referring to. Sam has to strain his ears, but he can make it out if he focuses hard enough.

“ _Sam… Sammy, God, I love you so much… Sam, I love you._ ”

“That… That’s what you’re upset about?” Sam inquires, letting the laptop slide off when Dean slams the spacebar in a huff.

“What, you think I wanna hear how I’m a complete fucking sap when it comes to you?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Dean—“

“I never even knew I was saying that!”

“Dean, settle down. People say stuff during sex. I don’t even remember you saying that. I’m not even responding to it,” Sam reasons, really not sure what to do here.

“Yeah, but why is it coming up then? I tell you I love you every day. Maybe not in those exact words—but it’s there,” Dean states, narrowing his eyes at the offending blinking screen.

Sam shrugs. “Expressions of love usually happen during expressions of love. Look,” Sam pauses, pressing play to focus on his responses.

“ _I love you, too, Dean. So much. God, yes.”_

“See? I’m a sap, too. It’s not a big deal,” Sam assures Dean, shaking his shoulder. “If you hate it that much, I’ll get rid of it.”

“Wait,” Dean falters, cupping his hands around Sam’s neck. “Keep the lead up. I need jerk off material when you aren’t here.” Sam makes a face, which Dean kisses away. “You’re the jerk off material, bitch.”

Begrudgingly, Sam agrees.


	15. Scent Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An argument reveals a new kink that hasn't even been discussed or thought about. Sometimes, things just happen in the moment, and the boys just have to go with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... So, I'm not dead! (yay?) 
> 
> Sorry that I've been absent for a while, but I'm back now. I've got a lot of catching up to do! DX 
> 
> Thanks to everyone that has read this and left a comment so far--it really meant a lot to me to come back to lots of comments to reply to, and over 14K hits! :D 
> 
> Hope that you enjoy the latest chapter--Kink. 
> 
> \--Kieran.

 

Understandably, it took some time for Dean to get over the fact that he’s a little mushy during sex. Sam had been completely okay with it. They’re in the moment—who cares what they’re saying? Dean’s more prideful than that, and he couldn’t help wondering some of the things that he could have said during that time, and whether or not Sam retained the information. After assurances from Sam that he really doesn’t have the slightest idea what Dean may or may not have said, the two of them dubbed the sex tape as something that they only really needed to do once, although Dean rebuffed the fact that he will be viewing it on the occasions where Sam is away from him. To be fair, that’s not all that often, however it does happen on occasion, so Sam willingly accepted the terms.

For the past few weeks, neither of them have thought of anything new to try out. They’ve often wondered if the anticipation isn’t as exciting as it used to be when they first started, as the concepts just aren’t as surprising as they had been in the beginning. That’s not going to stop them of course, but it does present a fork in the road. The point of all this is to find things that get them hard up. Sure, they have found some things along the way that they have added to their way of life, and neither of them regret those decisions. . . Nevertheless, they’ve started coming up short when it comes to new adventures to try out.

It doesn’t help that they’ve been given a huge work load to get through. Case after case has found its way into their hands since the recent breach in Purgatory’s security system. Fortunately, Dean has a vast amount of knowledge on how to deal with the dwellers of that community. It took their friends upstairs a long time to figure out how something like this could have happened, although the explanation made sense. Which is a first, as it’s often difficult to understand the winged-freaks.

This tragedy has definitely presented a huge wedge in their plans, regardless of whether or not either of them had anything in mind to try out. How can they get lost in each other’s bodies, when these abominations have been released back in to the world, and are causing problems for the people of the world that have little to no knowledge of how to deal with them, other than the various tales that they have read in stories, which aren’t very accurate to begin with?

Sam has been feeling very stressed lately. He’s not sure when the last time was that he had a decent night’s sleep. The same applies to Dean as well, who has been fairing even worse, due to his inability to realise that this is not his fault. He believes that it has something to do with his escape from Purgatory, that he caused some sort of rift in the structure of the place when he escaped through the exit… That, or there were certain beings lurking when he made his escape, thus giving them a clear entrance back in to the world. Sam’s sure that when he had made the trip back to the real world himself, that none of those freaks knew of the location hosting the void to reality, so he’s under the impression that Dean’s projecting the blame on to himself because that’s just what he seems to do.

Lately, Dean has been very closed off. Sam understands that Dean’s not the type of person to talk through his problems, but sometimes he wishes that Dean would just open up to him about how he’s feeling, and not try and pass everything off with an _I’m fine, Sam,_ when both of them know that that’s the furthest thing from the truth. No one is blaming Dean for what is happening, so why does he have to take it all under his wing? They’re in this together, and so they should shoulder the burden as a team, and not as a single unit.

Sam is willing to take some of the backlash if Dean would just allow him to do so without feeling like guilt-central. The sooner Dean realises that Sam is no longer a child being protected from the corrosive dirt plaguing the world in all crevices of its vast wasteland, the sooner they can start getting to the real issues here. It wouldn’t be so hard for the two of them to get through this together. That’s all Sam wants in the world. For Dean to lean on him, just like he leans on Dean.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” Dean questions, sensing the tension in the air. He’s never seen Sam’s shoulders so tight and accumulative.

“Nothing,” Sam replies, barely avoiding a sharp clip to his tone. It’s not fair for Dean to brush everything off, and then expect Sam to just be an open book with him in return, after all.

Not surprisingly, Dean can sense that that’s nothing but complete and utter bullshit, which provokes a small argument between them. Tensions have been running high between them for a while now. They can’t help how things have been getting to them. The shit in the world never fails to knock them down a few pegs. Just when they were starting to get in to something good, this had to come about.

Their argument gets heated when they both stand from their respective places, voices raising along with the blood pumping through their veins. Both of them know that this won’t get violent. It’s not one of those times. They just need to air some stuff, release the building weight in their forms before it drives the both of them insane.

Things escalate to going toe to toe with each other, ranting and raving about the issues of today, talking over each other, until Sam reaches his limit.

“This isn’t your fault, Dean. Why do you always have to do that? You haven’t been there for years. There’s no possible way that you can have anything to do with this, and you’re just going to have to accept that. I was there last, and from what I saw, everything was just fine.”

Dean nods his head stiffly. “The _world_ was just fine before _my_ ass was sent there, and now this shit is happening. How else am I supposed to see this, huh? What, you think that Purgatory just happened to go out of business all of a sudden? For all we know, those dick bags saw me escape, and have been plotting this for years now.”

“Are you even listening to yourself? That doesn’t make any sense, Dean. Why would they wait? Why wouldn’t they just take the opportunity when it’s staring them dead in the face? And you say that it’s because they saw you? Well, I went in after you, and they could have just as easily seen me. Stop putting everything on yourself. If it’s because of one of us, we’ll deal with it. But we’ll deal with it together, because I am sick of this shit.”

Dean recoils from the words, mind spinning for something to refute that. Sam can see that he just doesn’t want to make Sam feel like he’s even the slightest bit responsible for what’s happening. Sam’s under the impression that none of them are guilty with regards to this matter, but in order for them to get through this rut that they’re in, he’s going to have to suck it up and just get Dean to realise that the hypothetical fault can lie with the both of them.

Sam clamps his hands down on Dean’s stiff shoulders, lowering his head to calm the anger rushing through him. He needs to be passive to get through this. He’s not going to allow Dean to continue this _the worlds faults are my fault alone, and mine only,_ party that he seems to be the only member of, any longer.

“Look, I just don’t want you to blame yourself for this, Dean. You do this all the time, and it’s not good for you. I can’t stand seeing you like this, dude… Just… Stop, okay? Please…”

It’s with those words that Dean’s resolve can’t help but shatter into a million pieces. The desperation in Sam’s voice stops him in his tracks. Hearing the anguish hidden behind those layers of tattered masking tape reaching its inevitable end has never failed to cause Dean to backtrack on his own ideals. He understands that he’s been a pain in the ass recently, and he knows that he has a tendency to bear the burdens of the world. However, if it’s making Sam feel this way, then he has to do something about it. Although he has a hard time voicing the words, it kills Dean inside to see Sam suffering because of him. Why would he want to go on witnessing Sam’s pain, especially when it’s his fault in the first place?...

Sensing that Dean is about to start putting even more guilt on himself, Sam draws Dean into a kiss that effectively ends the argument. Midway through their explorations, they both notice that it’s been a while since they got a good handle on their hygiene, as there just hasn’t been a lot of time for them to take it into account.

Their arms are up, and they can scent the musk of two men having gone longer than they should without a good scrub. Oddly, it’s not stopping them. In fact, it’s turning their activities more intense, and Sam finds his back breathing into the structure of the long table.

Clothes peel off without any careful planning, sweaty, naked skin touching before either of them know it. Dean comments on their funk, trailing his tongue along a muscle in Sam’s neck, smoothing his lips over the area when he reaches the end. Sam mentions to Dean that he could care less about that right now, that the shower is just too far away, and they needed to do this _yesterday_.

“Trust me, Sammy, your funk is not a problem for me,” Dean husks, breathing in behind Sam’s ear with just enough force to line his stomach up with Sam’s own.

“You know, to be honest, the feeling’s mutual,” Sam concurs, aligning their mouths once again for a heated kiss. The air around them reeks of perspiration, but it’s not stopping them. This isn’t something that they’ve ventured in before, and they’re not even sure that they can count this as a part of their journey, though a silent agreement passed between them says that this is more than counted.

“Everything about you is awesome. Sweaty pits included,” Dean comments after their lips disconnect, hips grinding together in an aggressive fashion. They can both clearly tell that they’re hard for this, and that they’re ready.

“Then what do you say we forget just how much the world sucks for now?” Sam suggests, securing his legs around Dean’s waist.

Dean grins coyly. “Horny bastard.”

“Look who’s talking,” Sam rebuts, sliding his hand down Dean’s body until he reaches the swollen length between Dean’s legs. Dean does nothing as Sam pushes it down slightly to fit between his ass, and continues to say nothing as Sam jerks the head around his hole until it instinctively unfurls as Dean begins descending into Sam’s tight, warm crevice, further and further until Dean’s hips become flush with Sam’s humid flesh.

“We smell awful,” Dean clarifies humorously, catching Sam’s bottom lip between his teeth, teasing the area for a few beats of time.

“We’re about to start smelling a whole lot worse, but I could care less right now. Now, stop talking and fuck me,” Sam half-demands, half-whines, shifting his hips back to highlight his point.

Dean grins like the cocky bastard that he is, guiding his hips back half way, and then thrusting back in, effectively encouraging a silent, open-mouthed moan from Sam’s throat.

Sam’s eyes darken with that, pressing his nose just shy of Dean’s sweaty pits and breathing in the scent, growling with want. Some primal need surges through the both of them in that moment, spurring on their movements. Soon, they’re moving together in tandem, scenting and tasting the genuineness of their bodies, no longer tainted with enhancements that would offer them anything other than the real deal.

It takes seconds for the laboured motions between them to accelerate, chairs clattering around them due to the sheer force between them, rough hands slipping from slickened skin, pounding against the unforgiven oak before once again trying to secure a grip.

Heated expressions of enjoyment pass between them, growing louder, more animalistic as time passes. Obscene sounds of flesh meeting flesh filter the air where their bodies remain attached, neither of them being at all dejected by it, instead channelling it.

Sam shoves back, and Dean puts everything into giving it just as hard. Sam knows that he’s going to have sores all over his back, and that friction burn is evident, but he doesn’t have the ability to care about that right now, hands losing their security at the nape of Dean’s neck, falling flat from a brutal thrust.

Dean’s eyes track Sam’s elbow stabling his body on the table, using the strength of it to force himself back into Dean’s thrust, growling at Dean to give it to him harder, which Dean is more than happy to comply with, digging his fingers into the juts of Sam’s hips, hard enough to create folds around the knuckles of his digits as he hurls Sam back onto him with enough force to shatter Sam’s balance, head careening back and slamming against the surface of the table.

They’re both far too gone in to the act to feel anything other than the staggering anticipation that has been building between them since the start, vocalising their impending ends.

Sam lifts his head to signal with his eyes that he’s about ready to go, which provokes Dean to tuck his bottom lip between his teeth as he puts everything that he has into the next ten thrusts, knocking the wind out of Sam as they both simultaneously reach their inevitable ends, orgasms crashing through them with the final warning bell pulsing through the length of their cocks.

Sam breathes heavily as he tunes into the sensation of Dean’s warm essence filling up his insides—finally having a piece of Dean again after all of the shit that they have been going through lately. He’s so warped by the feeling that he barely registers Dean leaning down and lapping up the copious amount of come that he shot all over his chest. Fair to say that it’s a welcome sight.

“Scent kink?” Sam manages after several minutes of getting his breath back, flat against the table, and just starting to notice the pounding at the back of his head.

“Yeah, scent kink… Fucking hot, right?” Dean admits, head cradled between Sam’s sweaty pecs, catching remnants of sweat as they start their course for the mahogany design of the table.

“Yeah… Definitely…”

“But, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Not all the time. It’s fucking messy,” Dean explains, gesturing with as much energy as he can to the pool surrounding them.

“Yeah, okay… Sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ideas for new kinks are still very open, so don't hesitate to let me know what you would like to see the boys try out. :D

**Author's Note:**

> Any KINKS you want featured, don't hesitate to leave a comment with what it is, and what it entails. I know a lot of stuff, but not everything. XD


End file.
